One of my favorite stories is about my senior year in high school. I had teachers that believed in me, that knew I was more than just the social bubbly blonde cheerleader type and one in particular that was not a believer (in her mind I was just a dumb blonde). This teacher frustrated me. I wanted people to like me and she did not. Can't even remember her name right now - but recall she did have a shar pei named "Ibid" which I thought was cool, only because to this day I think shar pei's are way cute and I will always remember what an ibid is. (It's a footnote/reference to a reference.) Since she was an english/writing teacher, I will assume that's why the dog's name was appropriate. I digress.
I was asked to be on the Academic Decathlon team by one of the teachers that
was a believer (he was a public speaking teacher, I did exceptionally well in his class, go figure). I made average grades in school. I was not as smart as some of my friends
Denise Castillo but overall I did well. So I was puzzled when I was invited to be on the team because I had NO idea what I had to offer. Math, Science, English those were the categories. I was not particularly great at any of them. It was decided that I would compete in the English division. Guess who was the teacher overseeing this section, yup, Ms. Ibid. I will admit that I accepted the offer to be on the team merely because I was certain
parents told me it was going to take more than great social connections to get into college. Academic Decathlon team member would look pretty good on a college application and besides, maybe I could get Ibid to see the real me. So the assignment was, we were to read Walden by Henry David Thoreau and then write an essay describing said book and it's meaning and effects on life. I just had to look up how to spell his name - that's how interested I am now, imagine what I was at 17. Even if it DID mean cool stuff to put on an application. I wish I could say that I read the book, thought it was amazing and did fabulously on the essay. The last part is true, but the first part, not so much.
I did not read the book. I found the "highlights" notes that Ibid had given me tucked under the front seat of my Chevy cavalier inside my pom pom bag and I flattened out the crumplys (yes that's a word) and skimmed it as I was walking into the Saturday morning competition. When I found the room designated for Walden essay participants, I did what I always do, introduced myself to the other kids around me and started to ask them about stuff. "What did you think of the book? Oh really? How would you apply that to your own life? What do you think Thoreau was trying to convey? Do you think that fits into society and our world today? How?" Yup, 15 minutes before the clock started (we were to have 2 hours to complete the essay) I soaked up as much information from fellow scholars as I could and then I had at it.
I remember it taking me longer to finish than I thought it would. I remember thinking, "this is amazing, I'm writing about a book I have never even bothered to open.
and I kinda sound like I know what I'm talking about." Long story short, I won a GOLD MEDAL for the essay I wrote on Walden, a book by Henry David Thoreau. Ibid actually congratulated me, felt pretty good.
Problem is... c'mon, you knew this was coming, I robbed a classroom full of students that had taken the time to study.
Losers. Dang it, maybe I am just a dumb blonde, with good communication skills. Maybe I missed out on a really great piece of literature. (could someone tell me, cause I STILL have not read it) The confidence that was gained was not earned because I was any good at analyzing the works of an American
transcendentalist. (Yup, just cut and pasted that straight from wikipedia). I only participated because I wanted to get into a good school. I only put
a small amount of effort in because I wanted Ibid to like me. It only felt good because I mentally held my medal in her face and whined "neener neener neener!"
So as an adult, is this what I want to teach my children? Growing up sucks sometimes, right? Am I teaching them that the fake it til you make it mentality is enough? That a lukewarm faith is still faith? (Aw, here comes that pastor's wife thing...) If I
brag teach them that it was ok for me, will it take them as long to obtain a
genuine faith as it did me? I became good at faking it. I showed up at Youth Group. I said the right things. I memorized the verses on Wednesday nights at AWANA but I lacked the relationship and the true knowledge of the One who knew my heart.
I don't fake it anymore. Well, occasionally I will fake niceties when I run into you at the grocery store. I'm on a mission people, when I'm grocery shopping I'm not up for catching up on the details of every moment since I last saw you - be honest, you're not interested in my details either, that's what the coffee shop is for. : ) But when it comes to life, when it comes to my relationship with Christ, I can't afford to fake it. Not for me, not for my kids, not for my family and friends or the strangers I've never even met yet. Being a Christian means to bear the very likeness of Christ. I can't fake that. I won't. I challenge you to examine the things in your life that you might be faking - ask yourself, is it worth it?
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*Ibid: When I use the term "ibid" or "Ibid" or "Ms. Ibid" in this post, I'm referring to teacher "what's her name" that hated me but that I so desperately wanted to like me : )
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