Labels

This post was written for #killingmonsters, a Freedom phenomenon where brothers and sisters in Christ share their monster-killing stories. For more information about #killingmonsters, please check out the end of this post.

My desire in writing this post isn't to dishonor, disgrace, insult, or slam anyone. My desire is to tell the truth, especially if what I share will help people who struggle with similar issues.

Almost 3 years ago at a special worship service at my church, God did some spontaneous healing stuff with me. I was sitting quietly, and He brought to mind a recent memory in which a coworker told me, "Tirzah, you're an enigma." (An enigma is something that isn't understood, aka a freak. People look at an enigma, scratch their heads, and say, "I don't get it.") At the time, I cheerfully took that as a compliment, because I'm creative (aka artsy-fartsy). I like to be different and make people think about things. But during this special worship service, in my mind's eye, God came and peeled the label off my forehead that said "ENIGMA." He replaced it with a label that said "MINE." He was saying, "You're not an enigma. You're Mine." Then I cried. I didn't realize it right away, but my coworker had given me a label that had hurt me.

People label other people all the time. Sometimes the labels are harmful, but other times they're helpful. Labels can come in handy because they're like shorthand that you can stick to a person or a thing and say, "This person or thing was designed a certain way and will remain a certain way forever. This person or thing is doomed or blessed to follow a certain path or destiny from which he or she will not stray." Some examples of helpful, healthy labels for me are "introvert" and "artsy-fartsy." If I'm at a dinner party and having conversations with people that I just met, and my eyes glass over and I feel like my brain is about to crust over and migrate into my sinuses, it helps me to remember my label. Being an introvert means that I'm not a social failure; my social battery has run down, and I just need to go home and recharge. If you see me in a room full of people and I'm staring into space with an intense scowl on my face, it helps other people to know about my artsy-fartsy label. I'm probably not angry; I'm deeply, intensely artistic, and I'm probably just figuring out piano chords in my head.

In the Bible, God labels people. Ephesians 4 lists labels such as "pastor," "prophet," or "teacher." Once a person knows what his or her label in Christ is, it helps him or her to realize a huge part of his or her design and destiny. In a way, a label is like a boundary. Psalm 16 insinuates that boundaries are supposed to fall in pleasant places.

But when the boundaries fall in unpleasant places, people can get hurt very deeply. When a label is harmful, it becomes a monster that must be destroyed. I've been learning how to stop giving people unhealthy labels, too. A harmful label can be like a magnet that attracts criticism. It can be like a splinter that invites infection. It can be like a prison that prohibits a person from branching out, growing, or blossoming into something new and beautiful.

I had a friend for several years who used to spend lots of time with me, especially when I was depressed. We would lose touch, but then we would catch up and pick up where we left off. But recently, she apologized for not keeping in touch and said, "I'm a bad friend." Then some time later, she and I hung out with a mutual friend, and from what I can remember, the "bad friend" told our mutual friend, "Tirzah is a friend that I hang out with once a year." This conversation bothered me very much, so I talked to God about it. He reminded me that death and life are in the power of the tongue, and He reminded me that she had called herself a "bad friend." She spoke death over our friendship. So, unfortunately, I had to let that friendship die. She created a label for herself that said, "You don't want to be friends with me, because you don't want bad friends," and she created a label for me that said, "I don't have to babysit you anymore, so I don't have to make time in my busy schedule to see you more often than once a year." It was disillusioning and painful to let that friendship die.

In order to understand my social issues, I need to understand how I grew up. The most harmful labels in my house weren't spoken, but I think it would have helped me tremendously if they would have been. When I tried to bring this to a parent's attention, these labels were denied, and I was harshly scolded. I was the older of 2 daughters. I was the smart, ugly one. My little sister was the popular, pretty one. My father would tuck my little sister into bed, but not me. My grandfather would get into trouble for staying up too late playing card games with my little sister, but he scolded me for wanting him to take us to Dairy Queen. After we grew up and went to visit grandparents, my grandfather spent a couple of hours socializing with my little sister, but he spent about 45 seconds socializing with me, and all he asked me was, "Are you happy?" The unspoken labels were "favored" for my little sister and "unfavored" for me.

There was, however, a label that was often cheerfully given to me by my parents. Since I was the firstborn, they would tell me, "You were our guinea pig." I used to enjoy that label, but in recent years I've seen how much of a monster it really was. I think what "guinea pig" really meant was, "We can make as many mistakes as we want with you, because you're just a lab rat. You're a first draft. You can be deleted. You can be thrown away. You can be replaced. In fact, you were replaced by the newer, shinier, more enjoyable model." Later in life, this label was a monster-magnet that attracted suicide. I honestly believed that if I had ceased to exist, nobody would notice that I was gone.

Even after I went through therapy and got back on my feet, the labels remained. An example of this occurred fairly recently when I visited family over Christmas vacation. Our father became ill and was hospitalized with a kidney stone. My little sister, my brother-in-law, and I stayed in town an extra day so that we could hang out with our mother in the hospital. That last evening while we were leaving the hospital and saying goodbye to our father, he turned to my little sister ("favored") and my brother-in-law and thanked them very warmly for staying an extra day. Then our father turned to me ("unfavored") and said, "Tirzah, how come you don't close your eyes all the way when you blink?" I had been through therapy, so I had learned how to be assertive. I replied in exasperation, "Why are you criticizing the way I blink?" He replied that he wanted my eyes to be properly moistened, and I explained that I have issues with my contact lenses. However, the unspoken label -- which was now reinforced -- dug deeply into my skull and made my brain feel chafed and my heart feel miserable. I cried during my drive home later, and I gradually began to realize that if your father criticizes everything about you, even the way you blink, you probably have some major issues to work through.

For example, several months ago when God tried to put a new label on me ("favorite"), I painfully resisted. Why should I accept a compliment from God if it would make His other children feel inferior? It took a while, but He finally, gently showed me that each one of His children is His "favorite," and He doesn't give favor to one child in order to punish or dispose of another child. Psalm 5:12 says that He surrounds me with favor in the same way that He would protect me with a shield. One dictionary definition of "favorite" is an athlete that you can point to and say, "I'm expecting that person to win." The Bible says my life in Christ is like a race that I'm running. God can point to me and say, "That's My girl. She's the favorite to win this race. I've seen her at her practices and warmups, and she's got what it takes. She's gonna win. Just watch." Last summer while I was watching the Olympics, I heard an announcer say, if I remember correctly, "Confidence is a deep sense of knowing that you belong."

It's hard to feel like you belong if people keep labeling you as an "enigma" or as "unfavored" or as a "guinea pig" or as a "lab rat" or as a "rough draft" or as "having factory defects" or as "replaceable" or as "disposable." It's hard to be confident in yourself and in the way that God made you if you don't feel like you belong. It's hard to be secure in God if unhealthy labels are attached to your forehead like leeches that suck the truth out of you and numb your limbs from running your race the way you were designed to run it.

So, while God my Father has been re-parenting me, He has quietly yet firmly been helping me kill my monster of unhealthy labels by replacing them with healthy ones. God's healthy labels won't attract death, breed infection, or stifle me. His healthy labels will validate, heal, and empower me. Psalm 139 is full of healthy labels that God can stick on my forehead like "Tirzah is fearfully made. That means please don't criticize everything about her, especially the way she blinks." Another Psalm 139 label is "Tirzah is wonderfully made. That means she isn't ugly or unpopular to Me. That means I admire the way that I made her. That means I like to show up spontaneously at special worship services and heal her, I like to show up at her cubicle and have silent conversations with her that will make her giggle, cry, and swing-dance with Me in her chair, and I like to show up at her coffeetable or at the burger place and stare at her while she's eating in a way that startles her in an amazing, life-giving, this-girl-is-precious-to-Me way." And another Psalm 139 label is "Where can Tirzah go from My presence? If she goes up to heaven, I'll be there, and I'll invite her into My living room. If she goes down to hell, I'll follow her down there, and I won't leave her alone until she lets Me scoop her up into My arms and carry her to safety, because she matters to Me."

So, now when God my Father tucks me into bed at night, He's begun to give me healthy labels that snuff out and destroy the unhealthy monsters. My new labels include "ACCEPTED," "WANTED," and "DESIRED." But I think my favorite label is still "MINE." This label isn't a prison; it's a nursery that becomes a playground that becomes a field of green pastures and still waters that roll on for miles and miles and miles, much farther than my human eyes can see. Last year when I was leading a small group for my church, I would pray before the meetings and expect God to give me a majorly deep word like from Isaiah or something. But He would just shrug His shoulders and say, "Just show up and be yourself. You be yourself, and I'll be Myself." And I did. And He did. If I'm doing something like typing up a blog post and asking Him to do whatever He wants with it or expecting Him to give me specific instructions about it, He simply says, "It won't count unless you be yourself." If I'm freaking out about something like a social situation or a behavior or an attitude or a decision, often He'll gently tell me, "Just be Mine." And I'll remember my label, and I'll be healed, and I'll win, and the monster will be only a distant memory, a decaying corpse, a temporary stumbling block while I was learning how to use my fearfully, wonderfully designed legs to sprint toward the finish line of my race. I know Who's waiting for me there. Because of Jesus, my Father knows I can win. I'm His favorite.

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