I want to read Emily Freeman’s book, Grace for the Good Girl, the way my three year old wanted to hear me talk about him on his play phone. He would hand me the phone and wait expectantly while I gave the listener a play by play description of his activities. He wanted to see himself through my words.
I want to hear Emily talk about the girl I know all too well — the quintessential good girl. I know what it’s like to try too hard, to respond to frowns, real and imagined. Was I born or made this way through positive (or maybe negative) reinforcement?
Some people have a hard time with delayed gratification. I’m always putting off the fun stuff, until I’ve done my duty by everyone else. And it’s just never done.
Was I always rewarded for going the extra mile, doing the hard thing, doing what I didn’t feel like? How did I come to think that self denial and sacrifice were the greatest good? As if somehow suffering and pain were value added? Why do I keep putting myself last?
This is the kind of stuff that society rewards. It’s the stuff of “success.” But at what cost? It even sounds suspiciously Christian, except life with Christ is lavish and overflowing with grace. I’m still sipping grace by the carefully measured teaspoonful. But I want to be deluged, washed away in a sea of grace.
I actually wrote this two days ago. Then I stumbled on this book club,
and guess what they’re reading?
Honestly, I’m a little nervous about coming undone, but I did say this blog was all about taking risks. So here goes.