critical.

I am critical. Those who know me well know this about me. And I am equal opportunity critical... I find fault in everything, even myself.

I had a four hour meeting today with four pastors and a hospice coordinator. And in spite of my propensity towards ministry (why I was invited, anyways), spending time with preachers is not my favorite activity. The churchy language, the insider jokes, the attitude towards the unchristian elements in society makes me uncomfortable. And four hours?

That was about four hours ago.

What did I find at the meeting? These pastors, who are chaplains in different regions than myself, were not at all as I had feared (outside of the neck-ties). They were genuine. Servants. They spoke openly and honestly about their own losses and grief. They each shed tears sharing from their own experience. Authenticity was everywhere.

And I am now sitting in a coffee shop, around people who have little religious pretense... the type people I would have chosen to be around instead of the meeting, in fact. And I do not find the same authenticity in the conversations around me.

How do I want people to perceive me? What kind of human am I to become? I want to become one who can fully feel both the joys and pains of life, with confidence and hope. I want to be poured out, unrestrained, authentic. I want to live with reckless abandon, not because life is meaningless, but because of its immeasurable worth. And I want to welcome people into peace, contentment, assurance, and true identity.

And I want to transfer my critical spirit toward corny Christmas music... BAH HUMBUG!!!