Crazy, Crazy

I was on high school ministry staff for six years at the church I went to about ten years ago.  High school ministry staff was a weird thing back then.  It was "the thing to do" if you were a church kid when you graduated from high school.  Very clique-ish.  You got a lot of publicity.  Everyone knew who you were.  Everyone knew everything about your life.  Everyone dated each other.  Weird, right?  Or, maybe this is what it is like everywhere at any church when you are a staff member of a ministry group - I wouldn't know.  I only know what I experienced.

We had staff retreats twice a year and would go to Sun River, rent a cabin, and live together for a weekend.  The weekend was always full of "team building" activities.  One year, one of these activities was a personality test.  We all took an hour to answer the questions individually, add up the different columns and find out what "box" or quadrant we were in.  Then, we all got together in a big group and told everyone what we had been labeled.  Our names were then written in permanent marker inside a grid so we could all see where we were at.  The purpose was supposedly to learn how all of us were wired differently and how we contributed different things to our ministry group.  Seemed like a good team builder - interesting; fun, even.

The four quadrants were Amiable, Expressive, Driver and Analytical.  How it worked is that everyone had a dominant trait and a secondary trait.  The dominant trait was just that - the way that you responded in most situations.  The secondary trait was what you flipped into when you were pushed, angered or operating outside your comfort zone.  I spent a lot of time answering these questions and took it very seriously as I was anxious to find out what boxes I fell into; I wanted it to be accurate.  I found at the end that my primary and secondary trait were "Expressive."  So, when it came to be my turn I knew that I would say "Expressive, Expressive."  Initially, I didn't see a problem with this.  However, it became clear very quickly as everyone told the group what they had found that my result was not one that would be looked on kindly.  I knew this based on the fact that the Student Ministries Pastor was "Driver, Driver" and my other two male friends that made up "The Trinity," (not kidding, this is what they called themselves), were "Driver" and "Analytical" blends.  Apparently, these were the things to be.

Let me be clear that this public process was not simply saying out loud where you had fallen in the quadrants and moving on to the next person.  A "discussion" ensued after each person took their turn.  A discussion defined by making fun of each other, bringing out specific examples of why this was true/not true, etc.  Loosely speaking, if you were a "Driver" or "Analytical" you were strong and/or smart.  If you were "Amiable" or "Expressive" you were a pushover and/or crazy.  I feared that my answer made me "Crazy, Crazy" and could think of no worse place to be on that grid covered in permanent marker.

I decided to lie.  It looked like this...

"Alright, Jamie Joy, this should be interesting!  What ya got?" said the Student Ministries Pastor.

"Analytical, Expressive," I said sheepishly without making eye contact with anyone.

Silence.  Silence.  Silence.

My heart beat out of my chest.  I knew I was a horrible liar and felt as the silence continued that they all knew I had made it up.  So, I told the truth.

"OK, OK, that's not what I got.  Expressive, Expressive."

Silence.  Then laughter.  Lots and lots of laughter.

"THAT sounds more like it.  Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!  Yes!  Ha, ha, ha, ha!  Yes, you are!" said the Student Ministries Pastor.  "I can't believe you tried to lie your way out of that one!  Ha, ha, ha, ha!  Oh, man!  Jamie, that is FUNNY!"

I sat and laughed along with them, feeling extremely small on the inside.  Verdict - Jamie was emotional, emotional or crazy, crazy or loud, loud or thoughtless, thoughtless.  My shame was hidden but intense.  Finally, the attention moved from me to the next person and I was left with a sick feeling in my stomache.  Always being labeled as the "bad party girl gone good" in this group, I desperately wanted to be respected and acknowledged as having something to contribute to the ministry I was involved in.  Instead, I had very much been type-cast as the girl who had "experienced a lot of life."  The girl they had work with the popular, non-churched girls in the ministry.  The girl they had tell her testimony most often in large groups because it was "dramatic" and "redemptive."  I had a tattoo.  I had a body piercing. I was not a virgin.  I had done drugs.  I was different and always felt alienated and ironically - in this story - put in a box I was not allowed movement from.  Now, I was literally in a box.

My saving grace came when it was my friend, Paul Ramey's, turn to speak in front of the group.  He made direct eye contact with me, said "Expressive, Expressive" proudly, paused - and then came over and gave me a high five.  Paul got the same response I did.  People nodded and talked and laughed about how we were male/female versions of each other and all sorts of "funny" stories came out about the two of us that "proved" we really were what the test had showed.  Again, we laughed and laughed along with them.

I am still very close with Paul and his wife, Mer, to this day.  Very recently I was at their house and the story I just told came up.  He told me that he did some research after that staff retreat and came upon some very interesting things.  He said being prophetic is often-times affiliated with "Expressive" people.  I don't know about you, but when I hear the word "prophetic" I automatically think things like having the gift of being able to see or tell the future to a certain extent.  This is not all this means.  It also means having the ability to speak Truth into people's lives with an unapologetic clarity.  A clarity that has the potential to be deeply grasped and take real root in another's heart.  Another's life.  This is a gift.  When he shared this with me, I smiled.  I believed him.  I could acknowledge there was Truth in what he said.

I have a very strong reaction to people that try to put me in a box even now.  I think one of the most important gifts you can give someone you love is the ability to move, change and grow.  If we aren't allowed this freedom to change, where does grace fall into the picture?  For that matter, what kind of love and respect and forgiveness can we have for others and ourselves if this freedom is not extended to us?  As much as I hate it, I find myself putting myself in a box at times - and more times than I would like to admit I have put people I love in a box as well.  This does myself and others a huge disservice.  We can't love ourselves and we can't love others if/when we do this.  Not really.  People do make mistakes.  We all struggle with our personal demons and natural inclinations towards self-destructive behavior.  But I am a firm believer that everyone can change - everyone is capable of breaking cycles and adopting new, positive behaviors rooted in the heart...the soul.

Who am I?  My name is Jamie Joy and I will be fine in my "Crazy, Crazy" permanent marker box all day long if you love me enough to allow me to figure out that I am much more as well and understand that this in no way, shape or form defines me.

Ugly Duckling

I went through a very long awkward stage when I was growing up - six years long, to be exact.  I was a very unfortunate looking girl at a time in ones' life where it is important to feel good about yourself.  I had big, thick glasses, braces, and to add insult to injury - a mullet hairdo.  Rail thin and very tall for my age, I stuck out in a crowd in a way no one wants to stick out.

My family moved us around a lot growing up, and I was always the new girl in school.  I hated getting up in front of the class and saying my name and where I came from with my thick southern drawl.  Everyone stared.  No one talked to me.  It was terrible.  All I wanted in the world was to stand still for awhile - no more moves, no more new girl.  I wanted to have a friend that had known me for longer than a year.  I wanted to have friends to eat lunch with in the cafeteria.  I wanted to sit with someone on the bus.  But more than anything, I wanted to be a different person; I wanted to look different, act different, talk different.  I wanted to be pretty and popular.  I wanted to have a boyfriend.  I wanted to wear stylish clothes.  I wanted to walk into school and not feel like throwing up.  I wanted to not be shy...and I especially wanted to not be a pastors' kid.  I hated myself and despised my life.

When my mom and step-dad moved us to Oregon, I was 15 years old and going into my sophomore year of high school.  For once, we had not moved in the middle of the year.  This meant I would be starting high school at the same time as everyone else (back then, high school was only 10th-12th grades.)  Miracle of all miracles, my awkward stage ended that summer as the braces came off, I started to wear contacts, and the mullet grew out.  I was no longer tall for my age and had finally started to develop a more feminine body.  I was ecstatic and dreamed at night about a new Jamie - a pretty, popular, outgoing Jamie that got invited to parties.  I practiced speaking without my southern accent every day and lost it quickly.  I was determined to be this new person by the first day of school, knowing full well that I would have to become the best actress in the world to pull it off but also knowing that I was desperate enough to try.  And pull it off I did.

I went to all my classes that first day of school with my head held high.  I actively pretended I was confident and at ease while I shook on the inside.  I pretended not to care that I didn't know anyone and flipped my long hair back and forth like I had seen the popular girls do in the South, smoothing on my lip gloss nonchalantly across my lips during the breaks between classes.  I was an active observer, taking note of who the popular people were and positioning myself in such a way to be noticed by them.  One week in, I had it made.  All the girls asked for my phone number and I had invitations to all the best parties.  People bombarded me with questions about my past life and my family and I answered in lies.

"My dad is a lawyer."
"You were voted best looking in junior high?  I was voted Most Popular!"
"I totally miss my boyfriend.  He was so hot."
"Do you guys party around here?  I haven't had a drink in so long!"
"Does anyone skip class?  I hate school.  I can't wait to go to college and be in a sorority."

I had completely re-invented myself and felt completely justified doing so.  I started to swear for the first time in my life and denied going to church every Sunday.  I pretended not to care that boys were noticing me for the first time in my life and turned down every one of them that asked me out for the first 3 weeks because "I had a boyfriend back home."  Eventually, I had to lie to cover up the lies.  I felt panicky every once in a while that I would get caught but the bliss of popularity overshadowed every other part of me and the guilt I would have normally felt.  I began to treat my family horribly.  I began to treat people that weren't popular at school horribly, making fun of them for what they wore or who they hung out with.  I took bets from my new friends to say and do awful things to boys that had crushes on me because they weren't "cool."  I snuck out at night to drink and smoke pot and make out with boys who would talk about it afterwards.

I would love to be able to say that this only lasted a short while before I changed my behaviors.  I would love to be able to say that I felt guilty about who I had become and the shallow things I held dear to me.  The truth is, this person I spoke of is who I pretended to be for the duration of my high school years and one year after that.  On paper, I got everything I wanted - everything I used to dream about in my mullet, braces and glasses.  But on the inside, I was slowly dying and hurting myself on a deep level that I am still seeing the repercussions of to this day.

Over the years, I have run into people that I knew back then that have point blank told me what a horrible person I was; how the way I treated them was something that they had to deal with for years after the fact.  My attempts at explaining to them the ways I have changed and my sincere apologies for my wrong-doings fell on deaf ears and I can't say I blame them for that.  I have learned the hard way that you can't take back words and actions - that sometimes, you have to live with the consequences of your behaviors.  I made things right with my family years ago and they have graciously forgiven me for the horrible way I treated them in that time, but sometimes - even when there has been forgiveness extended, memories and scars of the heart still hurt and affect relationship to a certain extent.

I am still in process of forgiving myself.  Not so much my behaviors of more than 10 years ago now as much as for how I continued to pretend long after high school in a different way.  Being authentic and honest both in front of people and in my heart might always be a struggle for me.  So much of the time, these things hurt.  It hurts to look back on my life and accept responsibility for my behavior.  It hurts to admit the truth of how I really feel on the inside and who I really am.  It's scary to trust and be honest about where I am at in my heart when I have been hurt very much by people I loved in this way...people I trusted to treat my heart in the way it should have been treated in the face of honesty.

I firmly believe that God turns every hard, painful experience into good.  My struggle with trusting people with who I really am is no exception.  I have learned, and continue to learn so much about grace through the mistakes I have made in the past.  We will never go wrong in being real and honest with each other in the long run - not ever.  Even when people inevitably fail you - and you fail them - grace exists. Complete healing of my heart and soul will never become a reality as long as I am pretending.  It takes great strength to take a long, hard look at yourself and deal with what you see head on.  Much of the time, I don't feel like I have the strength...and this is true.  I can't do it alone.  I need Him to hold my hand and encourage me in my dark moments of looking deep into my heart.  Lucky for me, He loves to do this.  We all have to face into ourselves and be honest about what is there in order for true healing and peace to transpire - I believe this with everything I have in me.  My prayers for the healing of my heart and change in my perspective do not and will not fall on deaf ears.  Of this I am sure.