I have suffered a number of insults to my understanding of myself this past seven months. My stroke in late September certainly put a dent in my sense of invulnerability. The collapse of our revenue in Q4 put another dent in me, this time to my sense of invincibility at work. My confidence in the basic of goodness of people was seriously bruised by being named in a lawsuit in which my actions were described precisely the opposite of how they occurred. And Griffin’s death indelibly etched in my soul the impermanence of human life.
I have come to understand the utter futility in wasting time on some construct of self. When I stand in front of the mirror it is supposed to be God looking back at me. But my ego has projected so much more on the image. Being fit, successful at work, good family, nice house, great host, funny guest; all constructs of the ego. They are the scaffolding in my attempt to remodel a beautiful Craftsman into whatever architecture is the style of the moment. Which is why the scaffolding never comes down. The ego is constantly remodeling to fit the circumstances. Perfect family becomes brave family with child with disability. Young warrior sales manager becomes sage old general manager. All constructs of my ego projected on to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, LinkedIn and conversations with friends in real life.
The lessons of the past year, in this bruised and beaten child of the most Holy called Sean are these. To lose myself in the most Holy as I was intended to. Drop any pretense. That which will not burn is what is truly of value. And to stand in front of the mirror and contemplate the wonder of He who created us.
“There was a boy named Sean Shannon and he almost deserved it,” to paraphrase C.S. Lewis. And like Eustace Scrubb I have fallen asleep in the dragon’s cave. And these insults can either harden me further as I furiously construct a new façade or they can soften me. As Aslan says to Eustace, “You must let me undress you.” I must let God tear away the scales and take down the scaffolding.
As mixed metaphors go, this is the best explanation I have for how to respond to my last, painful seven months.
