If you were at a graduation and the speaker said something about believing in yourself and then you heard someone in the crowd cry out, "that's bologna (I was going to write bullshit, but my father was just visiting and requested that I stop swearing)", it was me.
Also if you were watching Guardians of the Galaxy 2 and a person in the crowd started snorting during the David Hasselhoff dialogue, that was also me. I almost fell off my chair laughing. I loved Knight Rider and now I must see if it is on Netflix so I can expose my children to true wisdom.
But, back to believing in yourself.
Besides being idolatry, it's a dumb idea.
Don't do it.
Unless you've had tons of psychoanalysis and an amazing sense of your shadow self.
Still don't do it.
We lie to ourselves on a regular basis. It is nearly impossible for us to stop imagining that we are the norm for civilization and justifying our behavior because we know our "noble" motives or blame others for making us victims. The prime example is driving. If you ever catch yourself cursing the idiot in front of you for going too slowly or the idiot zooming around you for going too fast, then you probably should not believe in yourself.
Most adults aren't self aware enough to trust in themselves, let alone children.
Here's some alternatives I would offer in lieu of the standard "believe in yourself" graduation mantra.
1. Invest in self-interest. Be aware of what keeps you healthy and engaged. Self-interest is a vital skill and different from selfishness. I know that I need to eat well, exercise daily, have quiet time, and sleep at least seven hours or nobody will want to be near me. It is not in my self-interest or the interest of any people I love to think I can sacrifice health.
2. Be compassionate. Listen to the stories of others to keep your own in check. When we believe and trust in ourselves, it often leaves us judging and condemning others. Cultivating empathy and understanding of the journeys of others can help us not be jerks.
3. Have friends who call you on your bullshit and celebrate your gifts. Okay. Maybe that could never be a graduation speech, but friendship is much more helpful in seeing you through life than believing in yourself. Friends keep us honest in our success and failures.
4. Believing you can do something, doesn't actually mean you can. Sorry. I think it's cruel to raise generations with this myth that they can be anything they want to be. It's not that I think the opportunities are limited, but I find myself talking with way too many young people who imagine since they want to be something, they magically get to do that.
I think it is much more honest to tell graduates to plan on working crappy jobs for a while as you pursue what is your heart's desire, and not to be surprised if you don't figure out what your heart's desire is. It will be hard and tedious, but welcome to life. Fame and success are not ends in themselves. Relationships are.
5. I don't believe in you. I never tell the youth at church that I believe in them because I've seen brilliant kids spiral in addictions and I've seen kids with a million challenges blossom with resiliency. If I trusted in them to succeed, I'd be angry and bitter at them for not living up to my expectations. And it would stand in the way of what I think our call truly is.
Love. Love. Love.
When a graduate returns with piercings, tattoos and a puffy face from a few too many parties, I still wrap my arms around them and love them to pieces. When a graduate returns with stories of dreams fulfilled and phenomenal travels, I wrap my arms around them and love them to pieces.
We are not called to believe in each other. None of us can carry that kind of burden. We are called to love. Our selves and each other.
So if a speaker got up there and told graduates to love themselves. I would shout out "Amen!" It would still be kind of awkward for my kids, but at least I wouldn't swear.
I peed my pants once in right field.
It was sixth grade too.
At camp.
First night.
Valley Vista Softball Camp where I was going to hone my skills as a budding athlete. I know this is hard to believe, but I was and still am shy. It takes a lot of energy for me to engage people so I've learned to practice and compensate on a regular basis.
At Valley Vista, I was a shy kid with bad depth perception and a short attention span. Right field was perfect. Until I had to pee and didn't want to interrupt and waited way too long.
It was embarrassing but no one shamed me and I did make some good friends. Some older girls took me under their wing and were incredibly kind.
It was the final game that shamed me. There I was in right field, singing, counting blades of grass, thinking about pizza when a really large girl got up to bat and pointed her bat at me. That got my attention.
I was ready, the ball went into the air, flying right to me, I was running back, tracking it and missing it be a million miles. She got a home run. I thought it would be like the movies where it landed in my glove, but no dice.
I think I got a "most improved" trophy. So for all those who don't think losers should get trophies, I'm sticking my tongue out at you.
It's fine. It was all a good learning experience, but I did finally have to give up softball as an adult. One, because we are really busy and I don't have that much fun. Two, I got horrible stomachaches and butterflies. It's like shame just crept right back in and pointed her bat at me one more time.
I think it's relatively normal, but what I do have to watch is letting my shame affect my kids' decisions. Their lives do not have to be shaped by my fears, shame, or regrets. I think that's one of the hardest things as a parent. They do not need to compensate or be trapped in my insecurities.
Speaking of insecurity, I'm also going to give up wearing heels again. For a while, I was trying to remain taller than Sophia but now I'm giving up. I think we're all secure in the love we have for each other and can cease with the insecurities and shame anyway.
I felt mature for a moment.
It has nothing to do with wandering around the house yelling about where my insoles, bunion protector, and bifocals are. It's bad enough I have to wear such things, but the fact that I have to find them is even more annoying.
It has nothing to do with looking in the mirror at a woman with a lot more gray hair and wrinkles than I have.
It has nothing to do with throwing open all the windows in church halfway through service because it suddenly is fifty million degrees.
That stuff makes me feel like I'm aging.
I felt mature.
Hopefully it makes up for all the fart noises I made with my hands and the juggling of random items at the police ball where there was no dancing nor a corsage so I felt regression was in order.
No, today I felt mature when Cassie, my dog, and I ventured into one of my favorite basins. We were on a snow covered steep incline, which some might call a cliff, and Cassie asked me with her eyes what we were doing. I agreed with her that we should turn around. It wasn't a fear thing, but the realization we had gone over several ridges wondering what was over the next and if I continued then there was no way I could manage yard work.
A sign of maturity is recognizing limits. Not necessarily being limited by them, but recognizing them and making a choice based on them. I refuse to be domesticated by age, but I'm okay being reasonable with my body.
I still slid down the snow patch and bushwhacked through thorns so I ended up wet and scratched, but I managed to get my garden and flowers planted.
Living without limits is idolatry.
Always living within them is boring.
I should know by now when my beloved says he needs a bandaid there must be an appendage hanging off his body. He knows his chances of soliciting sympathy from me are the same whether it's a paper cut or missing finger tip so he just doesn't bother telling me anymore.
He was oozing blood all over while working on the roof. Luckily it's raining so it all washed off the roof and for the record I did offer to help dress his flesh wound, but he used duct tape instead. That's why I love him, but I think he might have experienced my callous side many years ago and hasn't forgotten.
When Hannah was a baby, after I finally got her down for bed, I lay down to watch a movie while my beloved worked in his shop. Halfway through Chicago, I hear, "Honey, I think I hurt myself."
I might have said something like, "There is no way I'm waking up the baby to drive you a couple of blocks to the hospital. Here's a dishrag; you'll be fine."
He was fine after twenty stitches put the tip of his finger back on. I'm sorry. I should have taken him, but he drove himself fine.
I'm not good at gauging when something is serious and when it is a "brush it off" episode. I tend to put most things in the latter category. It takes a lot for me to go to the doctor. I know my body pretty well and I know when I need to tend to something out of whack.
My girls and I were just talking about my motto with healthcare. If something feels out of whack, check your sleeping, eating, walking, habits and drink more water. If all those are as they should be, then go to the doctor's office.
The physical stuff is hard enough to know when to go, but once you add mental health into the mix it is overwhelming. I've now heard for the third time the importance of learning how to express needs and feelings with greater detail. I pay attention when something comes in threes; it's the trinitarian in me.
I can't be the amazing guru who understands all that my kids and parishioners and friends are feeling or needing, but I can encourage tools and language to help folks express what is going on inside. We can't ever tell how much pain someone else is going through, but we can figure out ways to help each other talk about it.
I'm not always the most sympathetic person and there are times I feel like we live in an over diagnosed and medicated society where people are identified by their problems and forget they are more interesting than their ailments.
But, I need to listen. I need to have tools like bedtime check-ins, emotion charts, and dinner question games where we stay aware of our health and pain. I need more words than sad, happy or pissed to talk about feelings.
I probably also need to stop walking around the house behind my husband saying, "It's just a flesh wound." And the rest of the Black Knight scene from Holy Grail:
Black Knight: Come here!
King Arthur: What are you going to do, bleed on me?!
Black Knight: I'm invincible!
We just finished hosting an amazing gathering of Lutherans from all over the state. This is no easy feat when you realize folks are traveling over a thousand miles to get here. It's a really big state.
But we know how to gather.
There is lots of laughter, study, worship and fabulous food. I love that part of gathering as a "big" church, but there's also the regular conversation about the new program that is going to save the church.
My favorite part is hearing the new name for the new program that's going to save the church. We've been through transformational ministry, evangelism, renewal, and now vitality. I'm sure there were many more, but I stopped listening. If I worked for Churchwide, I'd have to name the new program, "F%#&ing Die."
I have no desire to save the Church. I don't see Jesus transforming, renewing, or revitalizing anything. Stuff dies and something completely unexpected rises. The best we can do is be honest through the process.
So, I'm not only going to suggest a fabulous new program name, but I'm also going to invite churches to be honest about who they are.
Here are the basic categories I'd break churches into, but feel free to add more:
1. Hospice Church: This community walks with folks faithfully into death. The pastor is a chaplain and the community supplies hot dishes and support.
2. Kingdom Church: This community is a mess trying to witness to God's vision of the Kingdom where all God's children are fed at the table. All of them. So there's healthy conflict, fear, failure, lots of forgiveness and compassion (and food).
3. Nut Sack Church: This community realizes how vulnerable and exposed the church is called to be so it seeks to protect and insulate what seems precious. It encapsulates the seed of life worried for its survival until it shrivels and dies.
(I'm not going to make any "He is risen" jokes because you might be horrified at this point anyway. But I am going to point out that there are many fertility images around Easter. If you have never thought of them before, then you would fit right in with my favorite Swedish ladies who raise a pole and then dance in a circle around it without seeing any sexual implications.)
The vulnerability, intimacy, and nakedness that's part of sex is also part of the Church as the Bride of Christ image. I'm not making that up. The nut sack church tries to cover nakedness with all kinds of things: programs, piety, buildings, divisions, new carpet. . .
It doesn't really matter to me where your community of faith is in these categories as long as you're honest. I do find it annoying when the hospice church calls a young pastor hoping they will then be the young and eternal church. Or when the nut sack church calls someone who is trying to be faithful to God's calling, but they really want someone who will keep things the same and help them survive. I think those churches will die, but I'm okay with that. I actually believe this death and resurrection stuff.
It scares the snot out of me, but I try to trust that reality.
I think that's part of why we gather. Our courage is fed when we come to the table as a messy community and laugh, worship, hear the good news of life out of death, and feast on fabulous food.
But, back to believing in yourself. 
