Several years ago, my sister and my mom flew to Kansas City and spent a week with me and my children here in Kansas. It was the first time my sister had been here to visit, and we had so much fun ... Sis, Mom, me and the kiddos. I remember one evening after we had been on the go all day, we decided to rest and watch a movie together. The kids chose "The Mask" starring Jim Carrey, and Mom and Sis rolled with laughter as they watched the crazy antics of Mr. Carrey's character Stanley Ipkiss when he would don the mask. You see, the ancient mask had special powers so that whenever someone put it on, all of their inhibitions were gone and they, in movie theory anyway, were able to fulfill their deeply suppressed and hidden dreams, whims and desires. Even the smart but mild-mannered dog Milo changes into a ferocious, save the day beast when he experiences the mask.
I've been thinking a great deal about masks lately, which is what prompted my recollection of Mom and Sis getting such a kick out of the movie we watched together on that evening so many years ago. There's a scene in the film where Stanley visits a psychiatrist who has written a book titled, "The Masks We Wear," and in the scene, Dr. Neuman says, "We all wear masks ... metaphorically speaking." I find it curious that in the movie, wearing the mask unleashed pent-up emotions and desires ... some would say that it granted the wearer the freedom to be real and transparent, to show his or her true colors so to speak. But most often in daily life, we define wearing a mask as a form of hiding away, an attempt to cover the person who lies within. And perhaps most of all, we associate the wearing of masks with a quest to fit into whatever role we are trying to play. We certainly don't associate mask wearing with granting a sense of freedom in any way.
There were a lot of people on the trail tonight as I took Oliver for a walk, probably because it was such a beautiful evening. After a half-hour or so of walking, I leaned over to give Ollie a drink of water and as I did, I heard someone call my name. I looked up to see a young couple and their two children ... I said hello, the kids loved on Ollie for a bit and then we all went on our way. As we walked toward home, I began to think about all the people I've met out on the trail over the last couple of years ... a true tapestry of people of different ages, from different walks of life, at different places in their journey. It struck me that though I've chatted with many of them, I don't really know them at all ... I only know the "them" I've seen on the trail. And by the same token, they don't really know me either. They don't know if I'm who I say I am or if I'm wearing a mask ... a mask of confidence, a mask of independence, a mask of discipline.
After Ollie and I got home, I played ball with Julie until she got tired and then I stretched out on the couch and placed an ice pack on my aching shoulder ... yes, it's hurting again, which probably means that I'm eventually going to have no choice but to have surgery. As I laid on the couch, I couldn't stop thinking about masks, about all the masks that I've hidden behind throughout my life and about the ones I find myself still wearing. And here's the thing ... God wants me to be real, even if the real me isn't pretty or strong or smart or happy. He would rather see my tears than a painted-on smile. He would rather watch me open my arms for a hug than to hide my loneliness behind a veil of strength. He would rather me be real ... open ... honest ... transparent.
Take off my mask, Lord, and make me real ... whatever that means, Father God, wherever that leads ... take off my mask, and reveal the me you created me to be ... real ... open ... honest ... transparent.
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