Masquerade

There is a fear of being known; fear of rejection if we live out loud, if we say what we think or share how we feel, bring to light our struggles, or even expose the dark secrets of our past. Sometimes, this fear subsides as we age and grow in both maturity and in peace with who we are, who we were created to be, accepting our lot in life, knowing whether pleasant or painful that God can and will use it to bring glory to Himself, that nothing falls void in life, and that our purpose primarily is to worship Him more than to be self-focus, self-serving. However, to reach this place, this acknowledgement, we must be willing to remove the masks that we wear, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. Without a doubt it is risky business.

 For many, it is easier to hide, stifled by fear, not living fully or to our full potential or purpose. I have lived in this place and still, occasionally, Satan reminds me of my unworthiness and sinful nature and I fall into the trap of grabbing a mask that covers my true identity. I AM the daughter of the Most High King and continuously fall short of His glory! The Lord is gracious to remind me who I am in Him, however, and the mask is eventually thrown to the wayside. However, as the mother of a daughter who has wrestled over her identity for the majority of her life and falls prey to the lies that Satan constantly bombards her with, my heart weeps for her constantly as I pray that someone, somewhere, somehow can speak truth to her in a meaningful way. I know that God’s plan is not to harm, but to give hope and a future in Him. I know that He will not let Meg stay here because He promises that He will finish the good He began in us, and what Satan intends for evil, God intends for good.

 Looking at the unfinished collage art project left strewn all over the kitchen table from the night before, I was taken aback by both the simplicity of the piece as well as the depth and growth it held for its creator, Meg, my 13 year old daughter. The project idea was taken from one of my art therapy books. The instructions were basic: list things that represent who you are, what you look like, how you feel, and/or who you want to be. Meg had asked to do this project and I readily complied (I never say no to art!). She made her list and I made mine. We then cut and tore magazines apart in silence as we scoured image after image looking for something recognizable, for representations of who we are and hope to be (I never use fashion type magazine for this project). Flipping through page after page, forced constant evaluation, causing us to asking of each image, “Is this me, is this who I want to be? Why? How? It allowed our mind to wander into Truth, to embrace who we are, even if it wasn’t pretty.

 Unfinished at the end of the night, Meg asked if she could leave everything out so she could resume working in the morning. Again, I never say no to art, so a substantial “mess” covered my entire table! I awoke early the next morning while the house was still quiet. Sipping my coffee, snuggled in my robe and fuzzy socks, I sat at the table. Meg’s collage and list before me, curiosity set in, and I could not help but to skim her list. Her list was lengthy and consisted of physical characteristics and her dreams for her future. I smiled as I read the list, but my smile quickly faded and a dull ache replaced the joy I had felt in my heart.  I could scarcely take my eyes off the last words written on her list, “I am broken”.

 I am broken” the words both haunted me and caused me to glorify the Lord as my daughter takes this first step in facing her fears. For years she has been wrestling with her identity as a product of rape as well as being half African American being raised in a predominately white home and culture. She has struggled with knowing where she fits and feeling accepted and/or worthy of any acceptance she does receive. She obsesses over her identity and every couple of years attempts to reinvent herself (pretty typical for teenagers), wearing a new mask which she hopes people will like better than the real her as well as one that makes it easier to look and accept herself. She lives in an invisible cage that she has made for herself. Held captive by what she believes she is supposed to be, but cannot live up to, no matter her efforts. She wears a mask, fearful to discover and embrace who she is.

Setting her list back on the table, I took a closer look at her art work. Flowers of every variety, color, size, and shape filled the upper half of her paper. Amongst the flowers were small words of all colors and thickness, posing the question, “Did you know that you are…” and then in large bold font, filling two thirds of the page, “WANTED”?”  I bit my lower lip as I felt the hot sting of tears slide down my cheek. This was the break we had been praying for. For years, literally years, we have been sharing with her, her value, purpose, and her identity in Christ in hopes that she could accept it, own it, and live it boldly. She has not been able to open this gift. Fear of embracing something so incredibly freeing and powerful, and going against all the messages the world bombards her (and us) is scary. Looking once again at title she had created for her art piece, I knew that she was processing this very message, that though she was still in that invisible cage, the door was now open. All she has to do is walk out.

Humility requires trust. Without trust, we cannot fully know love. Love is the first gift of grace, the ultimate gift that cost the Lord everything to give to us. Attached to this gift is a note that reads, “Take it, apply it, and trust me to make it real. I love you. Jesus” (TrueFaced). The Lord’s desire is to mature us into who He says we are (not the world) and release us into the dreams He designed for us before the world even began. It is a process to accept and trust God’s assessment of who He says we are. I cannot help but to put this into perspective by pointing out that we are able to love because He first loved us. We do not need to do anything to receive such love, such grace. It was given to us as we are, not who we could be or hope to be.

I said nothing to Meg about her art project.  I did not want to influence her creation in anyway. It sat unfinished the whole next day. She never did add more to it. Perhaps, when she went back to it, there was fear in moving forward or perhaps she was content with it as it stood. At any rate, we put the supplies away and I relished in complete and utter gratitude for the journey she is on and where I see she is heading. My hope, though not waning, was strengthened in that single moment.

Several days later, she went to camp for the first time. We have encouraged camp for years, always receiving a negative, fearful response. This year, however she approached us, asking if she could go to camp. I didn’t even look to see how much it cost, where it was, etc. It did not matter! My daughter was taking a step of great courage in asking to go to camp where she would not know anyone. I signed her up immediately, cautioning her that once I pressed the submit button, she had to go. She said, “Then hit the button already!”

In the preceding weeks leading to camp, I expected her to change her mind, to become fearful of the unknown, to attempt to get out of going. She did not. Instead, her excitement grew. It helped that her older sister, Abigail was also going as a camp counselor. Although the two would not be together, there was a comfort in knowing if she needed something, her sister, whom she had great respect and admiration for could be found quickly.

The camp theme was Masquerade, though I did not know that when she left. Abigail checked in each morning via text just saying, “Hi” and that she was having a blast. On Sunday morning, the phone rang. It was Abigail. My heart skipped a beat and immediately, I thought, “Oh no, she shouldn’t be calling me. Something must have happened”. I answered quickly to hear her cheerful greeting. I sighed a sigh of relief and told her how much I missed her and loved her. She interrupted my gushing to tell me about the happenings of the night before. Their lesson had been about wearing masks, what masks look like, why people wear them, etc. Abigail shared that the girls in her group, once back in their tent, started opening up, sharing deep, painful stories. Abigail, just 18, said, “Mom there is so much pain. The only thing I can do for these girls is to pray for them”.  I sought out to encourage her, telling her that though it felt overwhelming to hear such pain and not knowing what to do, what to say, or necessarily how to pray, that God had equipped her to be there in that moment and that in her weakness, His power is made perfect. She interrupted me again to say, “Yeah, but mom, that’s not why I am calling”.

“I’m calling because Meg’s group leader whisked me away from breakfast this morning to tell me Meg had shared her whole story with the girls in her group last night. Mom, did you hear me…the whole story”. I could not speak, I could not hardly utter more than an “uh huh”. The lump in my throat threatened to choke me as I attempted to breathe deeply through my nose at the complete understanding of what this meant.

Meg took another step in the healing process, taking off her mask. Such courage she had to have to share her story, a story she has not shared---ever. She must have felt safe. She must have trusted the girls she was with to be so transparent and so quickly---only two days into camp. I immediately prayed for the leaders, for the girls, for Meg that camp would be a place of grace. Meg is still at camp, returning tomorrow. I will let her unfold the story in her own timing, but I cannot tell you how eager I am to hear how the Lord worked in her life this week and what tools and truths were given to her for the journey ahead!

Once we remove these mask, seeing ourselves as God sees us, the son/daughter of the Most High, highly favored, loved beyond measure, not only completely and unfathomly accepted, but wanted, we can begin to see our Heavenly Father through eyes of gratitude, worship and live for Him with every fiber of our being, rather than striving to meet the world’s or even our own unrealistic expectations.

Today, I choose gratitude. I choose to see God’s sovereignty. I choose to dwell on the Truth!