Last week one of my best friends told me I was spineless. It’s not true, of course. I’m fairly certain I would not be alive if I was, in fact, spineless. The spinal column is the central part of the body; if something happens to it, the body ends up completely crippled.
I could tell if I had that kind of physical handicap.
The spine has three components: muscles, nerves, and protective vertebrae. Each part of the spine has a specific function: Combined with the vertebrae, the spine holds the body up, allowing it to stand upright. The muscles in the spine connect all the parts of the body, allowing them to move and function. And then there are the nerve endings, which allow the body to have feeling and sensitivity.
I find myself concerned that a friend would label me as spineless.
I am (at least) mostly certain he didn’t actually mean I’m an invertebrate. Or, at least, not literally. It may be true that I am a metaphorical invertebrate. Admittedly, sometimes my actions would convey that I have no backbone; that is to say that they are undignified, unfeeling, and incapacitated. In that sense, my friend is right: I have an emotional and spiritual handicap, and it affects me so much that I can’t even feel it.
Maybe it would be helpful to share the context of my friend’s insightful comment. I was telling him (read: whining to him) about a guy. It’s typical, I’m sure: this guy keeps asking me out, I keep turning him down enough to avoid actually going anywhere with him, but not enough for him to get the hint that I’m not interested. I don’t want to completely turn him down; after all, that would be embarrassing for him. And, honestly, it also has some fringe benefits: as long as he’s asking me out, I feel desirable. And if I ever really need a date, it’s nice to know that I don’t need to look far. It also gives me something to talk about (read: whine about) to my friends.
Typical. I hope that’s typical.
I know many people who engage in the same actions I do. Maybe you can relate: I act selfishly, manipulating others in a thoughtless way. I am cruel under the guise of sincerity. I am uncompassionate under the guise of love. I justify myself with good humor and scorn those who perceive my sin. Most disturbingly, I have become comfortable with these small but numerous betrayals.
Typical. I have a feeling that you can relate, at least on some level. Actually, I really don’t hope that my actions are typical. I hope (for all our sake’s) that I’m a freak.
All I said to my friend was that this guy had again asked me to spend time with him, or had complimented me, or something outrageous in that vein. And then he said it: “You are spineless.” I questioned. He repeated: “You have no spine.” It struck me that it’s completely true. It strikes me now even harder, and I suspect that it will continue to strike back as long as I remain this way.
It is true I hide in a shell. With no backbone, my shell is all there is to protect me and give me definition. After all, I would never want to really become susceptible to pain (or worse: judgment). Instead, I have become calloused and numb. I hide in a shell that consists of a defiant mix of pride, vanity, conceit, fear, anxiety, and apathy. Those traits are strong, and they have suffocated the parts of my character that are more admirable. I know it’s true, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid to change, to admit that I’ve been wrong, to rights all the wrongs I’ve created.
I might as well be honest: this is the sin in my life. My image does not echo the image of my God. I don’t need to tell you that God is not a crustacean. He has a backbone. He is upright, with a strength that generates from his core. He does not hide in a shell, but instead leaves his flesh open to the air in a statement of vulnerability. His strength is not in hiding, but instead in standing and accepting the feelings that are meant to be a blessing. He is free to move and act; he is not hindered by anything. And I was created in his image, to reflect his wisdom, his compassion, his mercy, even his strength in honest love. I was created in his image.
That means that I do, in fact, have a spine. Physical and spiritual.
I just need to resuscitate it.
