Leave Fine Behind; Letting Go of the Fine Facade
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gently and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”
Matthew 11:28-29 ESV
I’m fine.
We’re fine.
Everything’s fine.
Only we’re not.
Not only our default answer to the dreaded inquiry but secretly the response we are hoping to receive when asking a fellow human how they are, how their family is, and how their life is progressing.
A global lot of fines walking and breathing through a world that’s gone amuck. We maintain our fineness even when the muck has reached the very top of our out-stretched necks. Chin up buttercup, that’ll keep you from getting stuck.
What if we normalize that it is ok to not be ok?
What if we normalize replying honestly when responding to a genuine inquiry regarding our own well-being?
What if we normalize inquiring about someone’s well-being and pausing long enough for them to share an honest response?
What if for a blazing minute we let go of our fineness and all of its glory?
What happens when we choose to bury ourselves in fineness and when we choose not to? We catch a glimpse when we sit with three Biblical characters, Sarah, Martha and Esther.
We are familiar with the waiting story of Sarah. The Sarah who had been promised a child, but for whom the child seemed to never arrive. For those who have waited long for a child the heartache is also familiar. The art of suppressing the ache far below the surface where it can’t be touched has long been mastered. When girlfriends and sisters are celebrating their gender reveal with backyard barbecues and large balloons encasing pink and blue confetti, the deep ache threatens to split your heart, steal your breath. But fine, you’ll be fine. Sarah was fine. You can nod and smile. Sarah could nod and smile. Keep yourself occupied by staying away from the incessant chatter concerning nursery decorations, carseats, and who will be awake for the 3 am feeding. Count minutes until you can escape into the car and get lost in the familiarity of the road that will take you home. Home, where you can exhale, let the tears run and feel your way through the unfairness of it all.
Sarah lived a lifetime of this. She was a barren woman in a culture where a woman’s value was measured by the number of her sons. She lived the agonizing burden as month by month ticked by, year stacked upon year. Forgotten, but fine. Tears running in the stillness of the night, but fine.
Sarah offers her husband a substitute, a servant girl who went by the name of Hagar. (Hagar Without A Choice – if I could suggest another name.) Hagar’s young body responds as expected and she gives birth to a son. This was Sarah’s plan, Sarah’s idea. Can you imagine the conversation with her husband? Sarah sharing her one, two, three reasons of why this was a fine idea (concocted by a fine woman and meant to deliver a fine outcome). And in the very deepest part of her broken heart, perhaps she yearned for Abraham to say “no, we’ll trust God together. I will bare this agony of forgotten-ness with you, Sarah.” Did he ask? Did she forfeit her answer to “I’m fine, we’re fine, everything’s fine”?
We hide our pain behind a facade of fine, but pain seeps out of our broken up hearts and finds its way onto others. For Sarah, her pain manifests as cruelty towards Hagar and her son. Until finally, Sarah demands Abraham send Hagar and the boy away. Sarah, the woman chosen by God to beget His favored nation, sends a young woman and her child into the wilderness to die. After this, how does Sarah respond when inquired of her own well-being?
When we hide our pain in the depths of our hearts, it often reveals itself as snarky words and cruel actions towards others.
Martha, who wants to be Martha? Mary is obviously the favorite, sitting with Jesus while Martha is overwhelmed with dinner preparations. Imagine the hustle in her step, hands flying, hair askew, calling demands, all under the guise that she is fine. She is fine because she is in control and everything must be fine, because that is how she envisioned it would be. Short-handed leads to short-tempered and she lets her fine facade fall as she goes and complains directly to the guest of honor. Imagine feeling so angry and overwhelmed that you march straight out to the dinner guests and demand the guest of honor chastise your sister for not helping in the kitchen? Now you’ve blessed them not only with your presence, but also a serving of shared anxiety.
Perhaps Martha is familiar with pressing through the not fine to ensure it looks fine on the outside for everyone else. Had she considered informing the guests that dinner might be late, or lacking, or perhaps gone to her sister and humbly asked for assistance? Self-sufficient, capable, she stews until her cauldron of feelings bubble over.
Fine is often pride disguised.
Lastly Esther, and Esther does something the other two women do not do. She has an option to be fine, but chooses to not be.
Esther could have chosen to look the other way when she discovered her uncle was publicly humiliating himself, crying out, covered in ashes. Esther could have chosen fine by keeping a palatial wall between herself and her past. She may have gotten away with it, she was just one of many beautiful women living in the palace. Her ethnicity hidden under make-up and lavish clothing (Esther 2:10). Esther chooses otherwise.
Esther inquires of Mordecai’s well being after he refuses to halt his public lament. She does not ignore his response, but takes his burden on as her own. Esther, responding to Mordecai’s request for help, in turns asks for help herself. She requests that all Jews fast on behalf of their people, and on her behalf.
Esther and Mordecai model integrity and authenticity, refusing to hide behind fine.
How often do we chose to look the other way? Maintaining our separateness to avoid the burdens of others? What if we choose otherwise, following in the footsteps of Esther?
Fine ensures otherness and limits our capacity to respond compassionately.
How often do we build a palatial wall between ourselves and not just others, but also with Jesus? How often do we tell him we’re fine by refusing to speak to him at all? If we can just squish it a little harder – the pain, distrust, anxiety, the forgotten-ness, and the muck that surrounds us, a little tighter, box it up a little neater and pretend it doesn’t exist at all, why would we need to talk to Jesus about anything?
Jesus himself says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gently and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28-29 ESV).
When Jesus meets the Samaritan women at the well (John 4) he leaves no room for pretense. He sees through her, he knows. When Jesus forgives the women who is crying at his feet (Luke 7), there is no place for pretense. He sees through her, he knows. When Jesus meets Peter after his resurrection (John 21), there is no need for pretense. He sees through Peter, he knows. He sees through you and me, he knows.
Jesus invites us to bring all of the crap behind the fine and speak it at his feet, to leave it at his feet. When we are not burdened by our own heavy load, we are free to walk genuinely with others. We are free to leave our fine behind.
I had an opportunity this week to let my sweet daughter not be fine and I almost blew it. In my heart, I did blow it. I was so proud of her, watching her push through some real life challenges, being brave with her beautiful smile and cheerful chatter. Until she wasn’t, until her fine fell and her tears rolled. I didn’t know how to respond to this perfectly put together 17 year old. For the first time in a very long time, she asked me hold her while she cried, and it hit me, she needs to know that it’s ok for her to lose it sometimes. She needs to know it doesn’t have to be perfect, and it can’t be perfect. She needs to know that I agree, the world is a mess and being 17 is difficult, and sometimes it’s really not fine.
And that’s perfectly ok.
