Happy Tuesday, My Friend!
Were you around in 1966? If so, what do you remember from that year? Did you know that in 1966 Mary Quant invented the miniskirt? That was the year Ronald Reagan became governor of California. Anti-Vietnam war protests were happening. “Star Trek” debuted on television. And “The Sound of Music” won many awards at both the Grammys and Academy awards.
Me? I couldn’t be bothered with any of this. I was too busy conquering the 1st grade. My specialty?
Being good.
Oh yes, I was determined to be a “good kid.” I wanted to be good for my parents, for my teacher, for the checkout lady at the grocery store, for the librarian who sat at the tall desk in our local library, and for people who would never even know I existed. I wanted to be “good” for them too. It felt like a vital thing to be. Get in trouble at school? Not on your life, baby! Not me! That was unheard of— until a new boy showed up in our classroom one day.
And, man! He. Was. NAUGHTY!
I don’t mean “didn’t finish all of his homework” naughty. I mean “outright disobedience and telling the teacher ‘No!'” naughty—the likes I’d never seen before.
I was mesmerized.
I can still see his face and hear his voice. I remember marveling over how he could speak to a grownup as he did. Wasn’t he afraid he was going to get yelled at? Didn’t he want to be good? What manner of man is this?
Growing up in a small town and going to a small school, the kids I went to kindergarten with were the kids I graduated high school with. I don’t remember this boy being around for much longer past 1st grade. He may have moved away, I’m not sure. But sometimes, kids seemed to disappear from school mysteriously, and then the talk in the lavatories was this:
“He got sent up.”
When someone uttered that phrase, it was said quietly and with a look of trepidation. I remember hearing the term “sent up” and nodding like I knew what it meant but filed it away as “something to ask my mom after school.” She told me it meant someone was sent to a different school—a school for kids that “acted up.” Act up, and you get sent up. I was scared straight on the spot. Ain’t no way I was ever going to do anything so bad that I ended up going to a school for naughty children. To my six-year-old heart, it was a fate worse than death.
And so, I grew up. I continued to be “good.” I still wanted to be good for someone, anyone. Someone might be looking, and I needed to be good. Even when the threat of being sent up was passed, I still wanted to be good.
Good Lord! People-pleasing can be exhausting!
And what’s the point of being so good? Do the people I’m trying to be good for even see how good I am? Who am I trying to impress?
When I learned that a person could never be “good enough” to get into heaven, it was a throw-up-my-hands moment. “What do you mean? Good people go to heaven, and naughty people go . . . elsewhere, right? Isn’t that how it works?”
Nope.
So, all that being good? Doesn’t it matter? What’s the point, then? Upon further inspection, I’ve accepted that this is a good thing! I don’t have to try and be so darn good all the time. In the Bible, in the book of Isaiah (64:6), it says that all of our good deeds are like “filthy rags.” We cannot be good enough or work hard enough to get into heaven on our own. But there was one Person who was. His name is Jesus.
He was good. He is good. He told us there was no way for us to be good enough on our own to be with God someday after we die. But He said if we finally realized we couldn’t make it there on our own good behavior and needed help, He’d give each of us His “Perfect Behavior” report card in exchange for our “Needs Improvement” one. Free of charge. No more trying to be good enough.
Wow. That’s quite a trade if you ask me. His perfection for my never-going-go-make-it. I think I got the better end of the deal.
Do I still want to be “good?” Oh sure. But now it’s not to prove to the world how well-behaved I am, so you’ll all smile and murmur about my goodness. I want to be good to please the One who gave His very life for my own. I hope you’ll see Him and murmur about God’s goodness.
And when I die? I know I’m getting “sent up.” Maybe not in the way we whispered about in the school lavatory, but in the best way possible.
Thank You, Jesus, for making it possible for me to get sent up.
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
PS – I promised I’d never get “preachy” in my emails, but this being the holiest week for Christians and Easter just days away, I wanted to say these words to all of you. Thank you for reading them and perhaps pondering them a bit.
PPS – My sister is coming to visit! I’ll be busy having a blast next week, so I won’t get to write to you. I’ll write again on April 18th. Wishing you a Happy Passover and a Happy Easter, my friends!
“Then the angel spoke to the women.
“Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.
He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead, just as He said would happen.
Come, see where His body was lying.”
Matthew 28:5-6