Who We Are

I think that we each just want to be
loved for who we are. Period. Not the idea
of who we could be. Or the roles in
which we function. Or the services, gifts, and talents
that we offer. But who we are. Good, bad,
ugly. I think we each need to know that
we are honored and adored not by virtue of
performance and perfection but by the triumph of waking
up each day, breathing, and giving life a try.
I think that we each need places of unconditional
acceptance: places to call home. We each need to
know that, to someone, we are not second best--
to someone, we are the cream of the crop,
the top notch, the best thing since sliced bread.
Ideally, I think, we each receive that love from
our families. Ideally, our hunger for acceptance is satisfied
by the seeds that gave us birth or the
partnership that promised to honor and cherish. Ideally, we
find comfort and peace in the place we lay
our heads. No pretense. No intimidation. No fear. Just
rest. And satisfaction. And joy. But when those things
are not there. When we are uncertain of our
value. When we question and doubt the inherent beauty
of existence. When we feel used, or reduced to
function and performance, or we fear failure and disappointment.
When we're forced into a mold that was not
ours to live, paralyzed by discomfort, lost. When our
spirits are not nurtured and allowed the freedom to
soar--to explore the world and discover the depths
of creation, the places where we fit, the points
at which we flourish--we slowly begin to die:
our bodies exhausted, our hearts wounded, our minds numb,
our spirits suffocated and…then what? I suppose we
pick up the pieces and begin to live again.
I suppose we apologize for reducing people to ideas
and roles and function, for identifying individuals by what
they do rather than who they are--what they
like, how they love, when they dream--for not
celebrating unique personality but honoring the status-quo. I suppose
we vow never to let anyone feel as if
she is not loved for who she is. Period.
I suppose we fill the gaping hole called needy
beast with the unfathomable love of God, manifest both
in God's still small, unexplainable voice and the loud
voice of tangible community, and let that love transform
the very core of our being. I suppose we
allow ourselves to feel again, to experience and release
emotion, however raw and difficult, however many tears it
brings, and give it permission to bridge the gap
between knowledge and understanding. We are
all loved for who we are. We are all
created to be who we are. But I think
we each just need to be reminded of that
fact through words and deeds and actions and gifts
and time—that we each need to know that
we are loved for who we are. Period. Over
and over and over and over and over again.

dd, 3/3/07