a lesson from the three wisemen

I've been eager all day to get down in my room and write.

Finally. I'm here... me and my thoughts... and I feel safe.

It was a rough weekend. One that I didn't want to write about because of my fear of what people would think of me, but one I was looking forward to writing about because it exposes my brokenness, humbles my pride, and reveals God's redeeming love and mercy.

I'd say it all started Friday. I don't know if I already felt off that day or not, but I set myself up come Friday night. I went to practice for the improv team at church. We had a show on Saturday night and Friday night was going to be our second time rehearsing together. I was tempted not to go because it was my good friend's birthday and a group of us girls were going to go celebrate, but I knew it was important for me to go. And once I'm there I end up loving it. Practice was from 8-10pm, but I told the girls I would leave early (about 9:15) so we could go out. The plan was to go downtown Chicago to see some band play, but the weather that night changed our minds real quick.

Since they weren't waiting on me to go downtown I didn't feel as rushed with leaving rehearsals. In fact I was really enjoying myself, and kinda didn't want to leave. Basically I chickened out when it came to leaving early. They had called my phone like 5 times and I knew they were waiting on me, so just as I was about to say "OK, I have to go..." Steve Cochran walks in to rehearse with us. My selfish switch flips on and I say to myself "oh, I just want to play one improv game with him." At this point one of my friends was waiting at the door, but I couldn't leave now. Not only did I want to practice with Steve Cochran, I wanted him to think I was funny. Oh, pride... such a lovely thing.

To those of you who don't know, Steve Cochran is a stand up comic who has a radio show here in the Chicago land area. He's like a local celebrity.

Now... to be 100% honest... I didn't know who he was until he stared in a play we held at church last fall. And even then, I just knew him as the radio guy, in which case he still wasn't a big deal to me because I had never even listened to his show, and I had no idea he was funny... (it was a serious play.)

Being even more honest... He did not become a big deal to me until a few months ago when the guy I liked made this big deal out of him. This guy... the guy that I liked... is funny... real funny... so when he said Steve Cochran was funny, Steve Cochran all of a sudden became hilarious to me.

It's funny how impressionable we can become when we like someone so much. Anyway, so being interested in the guy who was interested with Steve Cochran, I became interested with (but not in) Steve Cochran.

Fast Forward. All these leads up to the reason I wanted to stay and do improv with Steve Cochran. I finally leave about 9:45pm. We all meet up at one house and then ride together to Spatz, some new live music bar in Warrenville.

There's 5 of us girls at the table just hanging out and talking. I enjoy a blue moon because I enjoy blue moons (it's a beer, mom)... and enjoying a blue moon is a way I can not be rigid in my faith by not drinking enough to get drunk, but drinking one to show my openness... at least that was how I was called out (in a good way) by an awesome speaker I heard a few weeks back about holiness.

Anyway, halfway through the night a waitress from another table comes up, puts a shot glass down in front of me, points to these 3 business men at a table across from us and says they want to buy me a drink. Please picture this because it makes no sense... I am in jeans with holes and a hoodie and they are in business suits with shiny shoes and slick hair. It caught me off guard and I honestly wasn't impressed by them or the shot they sent, but to be 100% honest... deep down... I was flattered... in a sleazy kinda way, but flattered none the less... which is probably why I want you to picture it... I was noticed and my insecurity feels the need to prove to you that I am noticable... even in jeans and a hoodie.


So here I am... sitting at the table with a shot glass in front of me. I haven't taken a shot in years. And I have no interest in entertaining that part of my past, but when I look up at their table and they wave and smile, I feel bad. I feel bad because one of them paid for this drink, and to refuse it would be rude, and God forbid someone think I am rude.

I ask the waitress what I should to because I don't want to take it. She said just wave and smile and walked away... thanks... big help... easy for you to say lady, you're obviously not a people pleaser (then I remember she's a waitress and it's her job to be a people pleaser... huh... maybe I'm in the wrong field). Anyway...

I do not want to take that shot... A) because I genuinely do not like nor can I stand the taste of liquor. The only reason I drank it in the past was to escape my feelings. Which leads to B) I have no desire to escape my feelings. I have no need for that shot. It serves me no purpose... other than to drink something that tastes like crap and feel like crap about it later.

I do not want to take that shot, but the guys are watching, and I feel bad. People may be reading this saying "big deal, it's one shot." But that's just it... it's so much bigger than just one shot. That one shot symbolizes my voice and the fact that I have no desire to drink it. To swallow that shot is to settle for silence so that the rest of the world can enjoy me... it's to give into the comfort of pleasing other people all the while feeling uncomfortable with myself just because I don't want to say no.

So what do I do?

drum role please...



I take the shot. (Ouch, I hate that I wrote that.) Without even hesitating, I take the shot, and I give in to my flesh and the smiles of some guys from a few tables over. I take the shot... and it's horrible. They are pleased. Yet somehow I don't feel better. I did what people pleasers do, I pleased them, but I'm not satisfied. In fact I feel worse. I feel worse because I feel like the girl I used to be when I had no voice or any sense of feeling, the same girl who had no hope, and the same girl who had no purpose in life... other than to make sure other people were pleased with her at all times... a life that is not really worth living.

I feel it right away, but I act cool... a talent I have perfected over the years... remaining "cool." I say it's talent because while many people make no effort at all to be or remain cool, I find myself much like the boy from the movie Juno who says he has to try really hard to be so cool, despite all appearances to the girl who thinks he's the cheese to her macaroni.

To physically feel the alcohol is to lose sense of reality, to lose my sense of emotions... something I don't want to lose again... no matter how hard the pain. The harder the pain experienced, all the more joy and laughter that can be experienced on the other side of that pain. Which is why I don't ask for God to take my heartache away, just to walk with me through it.

I messed up. I made a bad choice. And to be honest... I didn't know how to feel about it the next day. I was more worried about what other people would think of me than what I actually did. And I started to ask myself "as a Christian, how upset should I be? as a human, how much should I really care?" So I'm trying to find the right response and act accordingly, but honestly, I don't know that there is a right or wrong response. I don't think what I did was anything major, and honestly, drinking a beer and taking a shot... not that big a deal... but what it symbolized to me... huge deal. Doing something I don't want to do just to please the next table over... huge deal. The small stuff matters... it's a reflection of how I will act or handle the big stuff. With me, everything is a snowball effect... it starts small, but just keeps getting bigger and bigger until it crashes. It may only be one step, but it's a step in the wrong direction... for me... not for everyone... but for me.

I'm not OK with what happened Friday night, but I'm not going to sit in my brokenness and beat myself up about it... I'm going to run to Jesus and say "look at me, look at who I am, look at what I've done. Look at every ugly characteristic in me that I don't want you or others to see, look at me and know my heart and every intention in it, and please... love me anyway!"

Some people may read this and be disappointed in me... something that would have crushed me a few years ago... but I'm OK with experiencing God's grace in my moments of weakness. Some people may read this and think I'm crazy and completely over-reacting... but being called crazy as a result of my faith is something I'm willing to live with.

God's grace is not an excuse to do as you please... I have no intention of going out drinking every weekend and justify it with God's grace and forgiveness... but it's a beautiful thing when you come to realize that the life you judge others for is not beneath you, and you are once again reminded that you are in constant need of a Savior... no matter how well behaved.


And by you, I mean me.