The Hard Lessons We Learn
some thoughts on transcending and including
Based on a true story… This post will be released for free next Thursday.
That look in his eyes is all too familiar: the apprehension and anxiety, but then, sudden relief, as if a major catastrophe was just avoided, as if bad news turned out to be untrue and all is right with the world. He thanked me, gave a half-smile, collected his bags and walked away, pushing his cart.
I see this all the time, more than you would think.
As I tell them the total of their purchase, they glance at their groceries, considering what they could sacrifice if need be, then insert their card into the terminal. As they enter their PIN, they hold their breath until, finally, it dings its ding of approval.
Sometimes, of course, it doesn't go through. They check their phones or their checkbooks to evaluate their balance, make some calculations in their heads, and remove a few items from the bags. “It turns out I don’t need those sweets after all, honey. Take those off for me please.”
Or then there’s the classic, “Oops! I used the wrong card. Silly me.” Then they take out a credit card, probably nearing its maximum limit, and pay for their groceries.
I know this because I’ve been there, because I am there.
I work as a cashier to supplement my income because the work that I feel called to, that I feel I have to do, doesn’t pay enough to cover basic expenses. And being a cashier gives me the flexible hours to attend school.
As the young man walks off while pushing his cart, I turn my light off, log out of the register, and move to clock out; it’s time for lunch. Of course, this means that I’m about to take part in the same ritual.
And what’s strange is that even though I know that I have enough money in my account, even though I checked my balance on the way to my locker, I still hold my breath as the terminal moves from pending to approved. And as I sit down to eat my sandwich, always the cheapest one on the menu, I check my balance again to see how much gas I can buy later.
The above short story describes my life in 2013-2014. I worked as a cashier while I preached for a small country church in Argo, Alabama, just outside of Sumiton. When I wasn’t preaching or working at the grocery store, I attended community college in Sumiton. Money was tight then and had been for several years, and I saw the “declined” screen more than I’d like to admit.
But what’s odd is that now, eleven years later, I still hold my breath as the transaction goes through. My wife and I aren’t rich—not by a long shot. Student loans, daycare, a car payment, insurance, and other bills basically zap all of our income each month (hopefully our son is admitted to preschool this fall!).
But we do just fine.
We can afford what we need and a little of what we don’t.
Yet, I still have purchase anxiety. I suppose it’s wired into me now.
But just this morning, I went to McDonald’s because I promised Cayden a breakfast burrito if he got up early enough. As we went through the drive-thru, I used Apple Pay to pay the man at the window, and even though I didn’t need a receipt, I paused to make sure the transaction went through.
It was less than $5.
And in a way, this is how legalism and fundamentalism has made me feel.
Even though I don’t read the Bible in the same way as I used to, constantly looking for authority for this or that and treating Scripture more like an educated lawyer than a poor fisherman from Galilee (the regulative principle), I still cringe when confronted with something that seems like one of those “strange doctrines” I heard of growing up.
And while part of me wishes I could rid myself of my inner fundamentalist, as my friend Brian McLaren calls it in Faith After Doubt, I am also happy he hangs around.
Because while I may have no qualms with that which I used to despise in others, it does help me gauge how one of that mindset might react to whatever change, teaching, or interpretation is presented. I can maintain a kind of sympathy for those deeply rooted in my home tribe while still hoping and praying for their eventual transformation.
And I’m thankful for this sympathy.
When I was first excommunicated, I was bitter, and I was bitter for several years, but through introspection, centering prayer, and a lot of conversations with God through prayer, reading scripture, and conversations with people who exhibit the life of Christ daily, I learned to forgive myself and forgive others.
This is when I stopped resenting my inner legalist and learned to embrace him for who he is and thank him for his years of continued service. I learned to love Scripture at his direction. I learned to study, use logic, and write with him at the helm. I first learned about God, the love of Jesus, and the desire for truth when he was in charge.
And I’m so proud he’s stayed with me, even though he now has to ride in the trunk.
I don’t know how much these feelings relate to you. You may have never had to worry about where you would get the money to pay the power bill, and you may have never submitted a bank payment to your cellphone company, suspecting it would fail, just so you could use your phone for a few more days until payday, when you could actually pay the bill. But I hope you learn from this that these feelings can be used for good.
Whether they teach you good spending habits or budgeting skills, whether they teach you to be sympathetic towards those who think the way you used to, or whether you have learned some tough lessons about relationships, leadership skills, or job interviews, I want you to know that these lessons, as difficult and as heart-wrenching as they might have been, can be for your benefit, but they can also be passed on to others.
God bless.