I always hesitated to fart around girls while growing up. I maintained a façade of a cardboard cutout “Mike”, who’s smile never ceased (and everybody knows cardboard cutouts don’t fart). I’ve had plenty of dates where I hopped in the car afterwards and, finally alone, I unabashedly let loose the gas I had held in. I cared more about what people thought of me than I was willing to admit.
Last month I received some feedback that helped me realize I still care more than I should.
“Sometimes it seems like you are afraid to speak, out of fear of making someone upset or being wrong, or maybe just sounding dumb.”
My ego, bruised and protective of its fragile self, did not want to hear someone voice my imperfections. I have learned enough of my own character defects to recognize when that old familiar pride rears its ugly head. The moment reminded me of something I read:
“An ego response is always an inadequate or even wrong response to the moment.” Richard Rhor, Breathing Underwater.
That’s powerful. I took a step back and realized there’s a lot of truth in what my team mate told me. I hesitate when it comes to conflict. I’m a high harmony kind of guy, big on peace. I don’t want people upset with me so I’m not inclined to produce conflict. I knew that about myself, but I realized I also fear looking dumb to others.
I err on the side of social caution. While I have grown a lot in this area (many stories and thanks attributed to my amazing friend Phil Mach in Dallas), there’s room for more. I decided I needed to pray and meditate on the feedback I received.
I woke up at 4:45 the next morning to meditate. This may sound nuts, but introverts will understand. In “All-Squad-Month” we lived with 36 people for the month. Other humans produced a constant buzz of noise from 8 am to 11 pm. The only time for some peace and quiet was at 5 am, before those damn extroverts could wake up.
A group of us suffocating introverts started a club. It wasn’t official or anything, because that would have required us to actually discuss forming a club . . . instead of just nodding to each other — not wanting to break the crispy silence.
I gathered myself to meditate amongst the other 3 who would often read and pray in the living room as the sun rose. I sat there, focused on clearing my mind, which unexpectedly resulted in also clearing the gas from my large intestine.
In a moment of disbelief, I simultaneously felt physical relief and emotion dread. My flatulence furiously screamed through the stillness. The reverberance shook morning dew from the grass. My dear friend Talia, lost all control and we both laughed uncontrollably. We weren’t sure if Pam was so deep in prayer she didn’t notice, or if she severely disapproved of my interruption, but she gave no response. For Talia and I it became one of the funniest parts of the whole month.
That one incredulous fart, something I grew up feeling the need to hide out of an irrational fear around displaying a social imperfection, opened the door to a moment of knowing hilarity and joy.
I speak a lot about character defects and faults. I have learned a lot about my own as well, and through years of practice I have been blessed in the removal of some of those faults. Unfortunately, it’s still easier to talk about being imperfect than it is to just be imperfect.
We also need friends like Talia and Phil, who won’t hesitate to bask in those moments of imperfection. They teach us how ridiculous we are for worrying about such silly things, because that’s the kind of love God shows us. If we are quick to anger, judgement, fear, lust, resentment, dishonesty — it’s okay. The best times are when those imperfections are so loud they echo off the walls, rupturing the silence at 5 am, when there’s nobody else to blame. Even better, is when we have someone there who can jump in and show us the joy in those imperfections and remind us that God is made strongest where we are weak, shines brightest where we are dim, and can make symphonies from flatulence.
Of course Talia and I ended up sitting next to the bathroom for our 20 hour bus ride… I swear didn’t cause this stink this time.
I will post my “After” blog from our ministry at Ecuasol this Friday. We are now safely in Cartagena, Colombia. Remember to Subscribe for update alerts! Many exciting things, including a route change to Greece, where we will be helping Syrian refugees. Subscribe to stay in the loop.
