So goes a line from the song "Masquerade" from The Phantom of the Opera, one of mine and my husband the engineer's favourite musicals. My Tuesday morning women's group is currently reading and discussing Grace for the Good Girl. What a read it has been, and so far, I've only read the intro, chapter one and almost all of chapter two. The book centres around the issues that we, as Christian women have, with putting on a mask, managing "your" view of "me" and how we play masquerade in a variety of ways and situations.
I learned young how to put on my mask. After my dad died, I would put on a small, say ages 6 to 10-ish sized mask of not wanting to appear like I was "still" missing my dad. I would keep it in, cry in secret, scared of other kids finding out my vulnerable spot and zeroing in for the kill-shot. I didn't want to make my mom any more upset than she would have been, so I tried to make sure that I kept it in in front of her...I didn't want to re-hurt her and didn't want to make her cry, too. In my young world, I figured she probably had enough to deal with.
In junior high, I learned how to put on a mask that I had no business putting on. I hid my Christianity behind a mask...and I was darned proud of it. I remember one time, telling my mom, that "no one at school knows I'm a Christian, and I'm pretty proud of that." She proceeded to tell me why that might not be such a good thing. See, I was already at the bottom of the popularity totem pole. Never mind that the early '90s was festooned with enough permed poodle-looking hair, I had the wonderful DNA that gave me naturally curly hair (secretly, at that time, I loved it, because it was the only obvious way in which I resembled my father). Our family was, according to StatsCan, below the poverty line, so mom didn't have money to spend on Vuarnet t-shirts, Club Monaco sweatshirts, and SunIce jackets. Throw in that I was in band (geek), and played in the jr. pipe band, I was at the bottom of the pile. The last thing I wanted anyone to know was that I was a Christian.
In high school I had a really good 3 years. In a school of 3,000 students, not only were you guaranteed to not be at the bottom of the pecking order, but you were pretty much guaranteed to find at least 2 people with whom you could be friends. The group of friends I made in high school, I'm still in decent enough contact with...a couple have slid off the radar, but in general, contact is ok.
I didn't worry about masks much more, till I got into motherhood. Then all kinds of masks started crowding my closet: The Good Wife: cleans, cooks (from scratch, mind!), irons, launders, looking put-together and with a smile on her face every day. The Good Mom: disciplines, corrects, plays with, enjoys, entertains, reads to, crafts with, cooks and bakes with, dresses perfectly, has well-behaved children all. the. time., has no children who have issues which will cause embarassment to themselves and/or parents, and is never, ever impatient, sharp, or fed up with her children. Kind of a mix of Mary Poppins, Supernanny, and Mr. Dressup all rolled into one..but don't forget, Julia Childs and Martha Stewart, too! Oh, and don't forget: Good Christian Woman: who never has a spiritual problem, reads her Bible and prays every morning, come Hades or high water, never has a question about anything, always signs up for a casserole, always signs up for any ministry needing a warm body and able hands, and desperately doesn't want to be one of "those" parishioners to her Pastor.
So we all have our masks, and depending on where we are, and with whom we are, we will have on one, or all of them. Hidden deep behind the layers of masks, is our true self....the one that can deal with grace, good enough, and sometimes, McDonald's for supper...the one who can let handle discipline with graciousness and accept that this is where she's at right now...the one who graciously looks over quirks with one particular child...the one flops into bed at night, knowing that the laundry will never truly be "all caught up" and she's ok with that. I want to be her...but I don't know how.
Although I'm tired of wearing multiple masks, I'm equally wary of letting people see the true me. Will you see me, with all my flaws and failures, and take me as I am, love me like Jesus, and walk with me through stuff? Will you trust me to do the same? Will we both realize that we might, and probably will, hurt each other along the way, but that's ok, because we live in a broken world, but we have Jesus and grace and that will get us through? Will you see my flaws and failings as projects to work on, and not see ME? Or will I be too much for you, too icky, too beneath you to bother with? Leave me to be the last one waiting to be picked?
I'm anxious about working through this disposal of masks..but I feel that it's high time, too.
