When I was in high school, I had one of those sliding-keyboard phones. Not only was it blue and white with sparkles, but it had some solid games on it–which is mostly what I used it for if I’m honest.

One morning, though, I was rushing to the bus stop and dropped the phone in the snow. The device remained there for three days before my younger brother found it! Thankfully, those old phones were hardy; after a few hours in a bag of rice, the phone was as good as new.

My Pretty, Blue iPhone

By the time I was in college, though, I had a pretty blue iPhone. It was far more advanced. . . and far less durable. To be fair, I didn’t merely drop it in snow (although that would’ve likely impeded its functionality). Nope; I sent it through an industrial washer.

Like most mistakes that haunt me, the incident was the result of me trying to be extra responsible: I didn’t want my phone to fall out of my pocket when I rode my bike to the athlete laundry center. I responsibly placed the iPhone in the Butler duffle bag I was returning. I patiently waited to give the bag to the staff. I kindly expressed my gratitude. Then I cycled back to my apartment.

It was a few hours before I realized my phone was missing. At that point, I raced back to the laundry facility. Of all the scenarios in my head, the most likely was that they’d found the phone and placed it aside for me. But once I saw the concerned face of the Equipment Manager, I began rethinking my odds. With a slow nod, she confirmed my fear: I had left my phone in the duffle bag and the duffle bag had been washed. Wordlessly, she handed me the phone–the screen had some cracks, but I exhaled when I realized the rest of it was intact. Oh Lord, thank you. Thank you so so much.

“I’m so relieved! It is okay,” I exclaimed, followed by an uncertain, “Uh….It is okay… right?”

The device wouldn’t turn on.

I had just praised God, so it seemed like a done deal that my expensive smartphone was rescued from the laundry devil. Naively, I calmly explained to the Equipment Manager that it was all good. I’d go back to my dorm and dry the phone out in a bag of rice.

I will never forget how she raised her eyebrows and glanced at the phone in a smug and not-super-helpful way.

“Oh honey,” she laughed, “It’s not wet. It went through the dryer too. That thing is done.”

And so, my little blue iPhone was gone.

Bigger, Better, Broken

In these two instance–and many others–I have been struck with debilitating shame. Throughout my life, perfectionism has made it impossible to grapple with my humanity at times–such that I repeatedly question myself: “How did I do that? That’s not the kind of thing I do!”

Our world demands more at frightening intervals. It’s not abnormal that you and I can’t keep up sometimes.

It’s not as if I don’t think I’m capable of sin or error. More so, there is a horror that despite my efforts to be “good,” I somehow still err. The how is horrifying. How did I forget? How did those words come out of my mouth? How did I fail?

I didn’t mean to!

Being a Human in a Snapshot

Our world demands more at frightening intervals. It’s not abnormal that you and I can’t keep up sometimes. The more I experience my own slips, the more I realize that it’s not necessarily sinful to make mistakes. But it does highlight the sin in my life: my pride.

In Proverbs, we are reminded that “where there is strife, there is pride, but wisdom is found in those who take advice” (13:10).

I’m going to be honest: I’m not the best at taking advice. In the past, I have exhibited the key signs of poor receptivity:

• Defensiveness
• Vague answers
• Quick to change the topic
• Judgmental attitude

They say that most people who think they are self-aware are not at all. I beg to differ. I think that some of us are indeed self-aware (albeit not entirely). Those of us who grew up with tense home environments and were forced to be little adults are quite observant as to how we are perceived by everyone around us. That self-consciousness can lead to great self-awareness. But they aren’t the same, and we don’t get to a place of self-awareness without tuning up those “listening ears.”

I’ve come to this realization in the past year. Countless times, I’ve avoided hearing constructive criticism (or critique) from others because it’s uncomfy and “I already know that about myself anyway.” I affirm the critique before the person is finished speaking, or I go into defensive-mode thinking of how I have improved and “if they only knew” they’d see I’m not weak in that certain area anymore.

Frankly, the feedback is often warranted (which I know, or I wouldn’t be working so hard to internally protect myself from it). The fact is: I’d quite rather sit naked on ice than metaphorically sit with my own weaknesses.

Are you similarly wired? If not, that’s awesome and maybe you can leave a comment about life on the self-reflective-success side of things. 🙂 For the rest of us, though, I have some thoughts.

What Do We Do

When I receive feedback that is both valid and invalid, my instinct is to defend myself by any means necessary. That makes a lot of sense. Now that I know my instinct, though, I ought to check that instinct against the truth. In my case, it usually isn’t in my best interest to jump to defensive mode. If there’s no immediate danger, I risk acting on raw emotion–before I give the Holy Spirit and common sense a chance to speak up.

Consider how much Jesus put up with on the lifelong road to Calvary.

This has shifted how I navigate conflict. I am more resilient now that the fixation is on Jesus and not “is this criticism warranted or not?” On the occasions when I feel wrongfully accused (like when some dude flicked me off recently when he was clearly in the wrong!), I consider how much Jesus put up with on the lifelong road to Calvary. If he loved until the end–even those who ridiculed and cursed His saving name, surely I can extend grace to a grumpy driver?

No, it’s not as easy that. But maybe it’s that simple.

When I’m Justly Accused

Arguably, the harder occasion is when someone rightfully calls out my sin or shortcoming. Even if the flaw is one I am aware of, I’ve been known to plummet to the rock bottom of self-confidence.

Jesus did not sin; there’s no recounting of Jesus slapping a Pharisee or stealing loaves of bread. So, I can’t learn from His sin (because there is none). Bummer.

There are numerous times, however, when Jesus was rightfully accused of breaking the Old Testament Law. As the One who fulfilled the Law so we don’t have to, Jesus was not sinning when He healed someone on the Sabbath (Matt. 12:10), but He did technically break the religious law of the day. Following that thought, then, it is clear that how Jesus responded to his accusers is how I ought to respond too: He owned it.

When religious leaders called out Jesus for healing on the Sabbath, he didn’t overly defend himself or lie about his actions. He said, “Yep. I did heal someone on the Sabbath. I’m kinda the Lord of the Sabbath though, and if you all are mad about this, you’re totally missing the point of the Sabbath in the first place” (my translation). Jesus was also accused of calling Himself the Son of God, which He owned up to. Have you ever considered that? At any point, Jesus could’ve backtracked on the whole crucifixion thing with a simple apology. “Hey guys, my bad.” He could’ve laughed it off, saying, “It was a joke and I got a bit carried away. I’m know I’m not actually God.” Instead, He stayed faithful to His name and power to the very end.

I don’t want to stay faithful to my sin. But I do want to stay faithful to truth, and that’s what I can draw out of this comparison.

If Jesus stuck to the genuine truth, that means I should probably (definitely) do the same. If someone comments on my lack of flexibility with scheduling, I can acknowledge that’s a weakness of mine. If they point out my tendency to avoid emotions, I can thank them for that insight and admit that it is an area I am working on. Ultimately, those of us who follow Christ can own up to the areas we purposefully or accidentally screw up in; that’s all thanks to what He has done on our behalf.

Summing it All Up

One thing I know and recognize is that I am pretty abysmal at math. That doesn’t mean I’ve thrown in the towel and vowed to never add again. But humbly admitting my weaknesses has allowed me to do more things I suck at–like math and art and administration–with more freedom. I create art now, not despite but because it doesn’t match the perfect plan in my head. I work on simple math not despite but because it is good to do things we aren’t good at. It is an antidote to pride.

Critique can be really hard, as can failure. But one of my biggest goals for the coming year is to intentionally put myself in situations where I can fail. This stems from my desire to separate my works from my worth; I don’t want to bristle at constructive feedback. Instead, I want to reach high and acknowledge the bruises from when I fall. Will you join me?

Love,

Han