For Out of the Heart Flows

I have the most outrageously unrealistic goal for my life.

Something I’ve noticed over the years that y’all may have noticed as well: old people tend to get mean. They say things to people that they would never have said aloud twenty, thirty, forty years ago. “Well, she sure ain’t the cook her mother was.” “Oh, that boy’s never had a lot of sense, you know.” “Are you still married to that weird guy with the ears that stick out?”

This is particularly a problem if their hearing is going as well and they don’t realize how loudly they’re speaking at church when the organ suddenly stops playing and their voice is echoing from the baptistry to the AV booth. “Well, who the h-ll dressed the preacher this mornin’? Sakes alive, that’s a godawful tie . . .”

Even my mother fell victim to this phenomenon . . . and people, my mother was just about the sweetest human being to walk the planet. In high school, one of my friends had a contest going with herself whenever she called my house and my mom answered the phone: she tried to see if she could speak to my mom more sweetly than my mother spoke to her. Mom would hand me the receiver, and Kena would say, “DANG it!!! She out-sweets me every time!!”

But yes, even my sweet mother said a few astonishingly uncharacteristic and decidedly unsweet things as she aged. And it’s not that she got mean. I suppose none of these people are actually becoming mean; it’s just that they seem to lose their filter.

We all operate with filters over our mouths, right? We know the people around us and the situations we’re in and what is appropriate to be said and how. We think all sorts of unkind or angry or inappropriate thoughts . . . but we filter them into something more socially acceptable (or filter them out altogether) before they reach the ears of those around us.

However, we apparently lose that skill when we start crawling into the senior-senior years. Oh, we think we’ve got it under control. I mean, we’re big boys and girls, right? We know how to be nice; we’re the ones who taught your generation how to be nice, thank you very much. We bristle a bit at the idea that we are anything other than nice people. But let’s get real, friends: if my remarkably sweet mother can lose her filter, I’ve accepted that there’s simply no hope that I could ever maintain mine for the long haul.

So, I have a different goal. Given that the filter will one day disappear, I’m putting my efforts into purifying the source. I want to become the kind of person who doesn’t need a filter, Lord help me.

I want to look at other people and genuinely see the good in them. The fabulous smile on her face – not the ugly dress on her body. I want to sincerely appreciate the effort he gave to that task – not curse the bloody mess he made of it. I’m trying really hard to train my eyes to first notice the positives and rejoice in them.

I want to assume the best of people. When that guy cuts me off in traffic, I try not to think of what an entitled jerk he is – I try to think of what troubles he might be dealing with that are distracting him from the road or making him need to get home in such a hurry. I read recently about Fundamental Attribution Error: we tend to attribute other people’s bad actions to their character or personality while attributing our own to external factors out of our control. I want to stop doing that.

I want to let go of hurts and grudges. Psalm 103 says God has removed our transgressions as far as the east is from the west. I have no illusions that I can be that God-like, but I at least want to look at other people and have the good memories come to mind first.  There’s a couple people in my life for whom this is harder than others . . . but I’m getting there.

I want to LOVE, people. And given the fact that LOVING was Jesus’ big final command to us, I’m counting on this being his will for me . . . and therefore his being willing to make it happen in me, too.

So yeah – a completely unrealistic goal. Except that it’s exactly what Jesus told me to do. You know, it isn’t surprising, really, when unbelievers find Christianity ridiculous as they look from the outside. “Love everyone – even your enemies.” Ridiculous expectations. Outrageously so.

But I’m sure grateful that Jesus was ridiculous enough to love ridiculous little me. We serve a pretty outrageous savior, you know.