The Slow Death of a Cynic

It's hard to know how far back cynicism started to leak into my heart. There have been millions of opportunities in my lifetime to hold fast to cynicism. Life has provided reasons to believe that people operate out of self-interest and contempt. Parts of my past seem to confirm that there is far more bad than good in the world. Somewhere I started to believe that I couldn't really make any difference in the world and that there was no use trying because my efforts were so small, so miniscule.

In my twenties I started to think it was cool to be cynical. People seemed to enjoy me for my dark humor and wit. I've connected with many people in my past over our mutual cynicism, laughing and clenching our fists together at how jacked-up this life is and how stupid other people are. I've especially enjoyed making fun of Christians--those churchy people who seem totally out-to-lunch when it comes to real life. Cynicism has provided me with millions of excuses to stay out of church and to not engage with other people. Cynicism has made me size people up before I know them, to deem them inauthentic before I've even given them a chance.

And let's face it. Cynicism is fun...for a while. It keeps us protected, insulated. It feels comfy and cozy. It keeps us from feeling things too deeply, especially pain. It makes us look cool and funny. But it also keeps us from feeling good, from feeling joy, from feeling hope. I've heard it said that we aren't punished for the sin, but by the sin, and eventually, cynicism started to feel like a prison cell.

This past summer was a horrible time for me. Chris was gone in a war zone and I was stuck at home with two chitlin's who hardly know how to do anything for themselves. I was exhausted to the bone, sick of taking care of them, wondering how my life had come to this. Then Chris got home from the desert, which was fun for a few weeks, and then he went back to work, and I went back to being miserable. I felt paralyzed by myself and wasn't quite sure what was wrong or how to change. I was sick of myself, sick of my life, sick of trying to do it all on my own, sick of feeling like there was nothing more than this.

About two months after Chris got home, we decided to start attending our growth group at church again. I won't lie. We weren't very excited about it. But we were starting a new study and I was trying have a positive outlook about it.

The book we studied was Francis Chan's "Remembering the Forgotten God." A few weeks into the study we looked at a chapter called "What Are You Afraid Of?" I started looking at very hard questions, questions that exposed a lot of fear in my heart and a lot of what I really believed about God. I started to realize a few things.

I started to realize that maybe God wasn't showing up because I wasn't asking Him to. I mean, REALLY asking Him to. What was I so afraid of? Sure, I was afraid to ask and then be disappointed when He didn't come through in the way I expected. But I wasn't truly afraid of that. What terrified me even more was the probability that He would show up, and what would that would mean for my life?

I knew deep down that if I started to truly invite God inside of me then a lot of crap would have to go--stuff that I wasn't ready to give up until recently. If I let Him in and asked Him to fill me up then I'd have to surrender a lot. I'd have to let go of my obsession with what other people think of me. I'd have to stop trying to control people's opinions of me. I might, God forbid, become a joyful, happy, church-going person that recited cheesy Christian cliches left and right. I might turn into the kind of person I used to make fun of! And, of course, I knew that if I let Him in, the cynicism and contempt would have to go. Hope and cynicism are mutually exclusive.

So I started praying. I started to really want to change. I wanted Him to change me, no matter what people thought about it. I started to believe that if I really let Him in and asked Him to do miraculous things through me, then He would. Mostly, I started to take Him at His Word. I said, "Okay, Lord...bring it on."

And the CRAZIEST thing happened. I started to feel Him inside of me and it felt good. I started believing that He could do anything inside of me, anything for His glory. My life started to feel interesting and exciting again, not just a monotonous blob of laundry, dishes, cooking, and wiping poopy bottoms. And now, a few months later, Chris and I are on an adventure to get a little boy who needs a home and I'm realizing that good things happen in this sick, dark world all the time. I'm realizing that God can do impossible things through me--that it's not just some cheesy Christian slogan. But I have to keep letting Him in, and the more I do, the more the cynic seems to keep disappearing.

I've always been a compassionate person, but it hurts to be compassionate. Compassion makes your heart extra-vulnerable to the darkness and sadness of life--it causes your heart to break. Cynicism smothered my heart--it smothered the tender compassionate side of it that broke easily--it made life seem more bearable, less painful. But it also smothered the joyful things that compassion brings. Compassion has caused my heart to break, but the brokenness leads to beautiful things--it moves us to make a difference, to be a ray of light in this destitute, dying world.

For me, it all came down to a choice. I had to get so sick of myself, so sick of living life on my own and for my own purposes. I guess like anything else, I had to just wear cynicism out before I was ready for something new.

Francis Chan ends his chapter with the following words:

"We shouldn't fear other people, the possibility that God won't show up, or the possibility that He will show up. But we should be afraid of quenching the Spirit. What hope does the church have if we actively suppress the power of God?"

So, the cynic in me is dying a slow death. She's slowly dripping out of me as I make more room for God's Spirit. She's simply not welcome anymore. Good Bye and Good Riddance. And I know I might sound like one of the big Christian dorks I used to make fun of, but so be it.

Are you a cynic? What are you afraid of?