Thick Skin and A Soft Heart

Some of my earliest memories revolve around a bean bag/stuffed bear clown. She was dressed in this purple polka dot outfit with little bells hanging from the collar, and I affectionately and appropriately christened her "Jingles," presumably on the Christmas morning that she became mine. I can still remember how, when my siblings would teasingly take her from me or when she was misplaced, my little voice would wail, "I want Jiiiiingles!!!"

In my mind, Jingles has become the symbol for my sensitivity.  I was a very sensitive child, the kind whose parent just had to look at her the wrong way and she was in tears. The kind whose feelings were constantly getting hurt. The kind who, as a teenager, would run away to her room to cry rather than talk things out (and although this may like fairly normal teenage behavior, it was less of a storming-off-to-my-room in-anger kind of thing, and more like a just-talking-about what's-wrong-causes-me-to-burst-into-tears kind of thing. I guess I was sensitive but still wanted to be private about my emotions, so most of the time I just had no idea how to handle all my feelings).

So fast forward to today. I'm an adult, but inside I am often still this very sensitive girl. And being sensitive is a double edged sword, this thing about me that I know can be seen as a gift, but often feels like a curse. This illustration might be a stretch, but I think of the scene in the second Sherlock Holmes movie where Sherlock and the gypsy character, Sim, are dancing and she asks him, "What do you see?" And after observing numerous details throughout the room, he replies, "Everything. It is my curse." I feel everything. It is my curse. Okay, pardon the hyperbole. Maybe not everything. But I do feel things deeply. And it can be a real pain because I know I get my feelings hurt over silly things. Even more seriously, though, sometimes I can blame a wrong response on my part on the fact that I'm "sensitive," as if everyone needs to cater their behavior to me delicate and fragile nature, when really my pride was just wounded. Feelings are so wrapped up in pride and sometimes it can be tricky to tell what's really going on.

I was reminded of this recently as I shared with my husband about how I felt like this woman doesn't like me. I replayed a conversation that had happened before we were even married, almost a year ago, in which this girl had harmlessly shared something that at the time bothered me a little, but really wasn't a big deal. I thought I had forgotten about it, but lately her words had been rolling through my mind and I had been using them to fuel a whole theory in my mind about why she must not like me. When I told Geoff this he said, "I forgot that had even happened. Have you been thinking about that this whole time?" And I realized that even though it wasn't on the forefront of my mind, it must have been buried there somewhere all along. And I realized also, that by holding onto the hurt that I had felt by what she said, and reading into it things that she had never meant, I was being very unloving. You see, I was believing something about her that wasn't true and allowing it to taint my view of her, as well as how much I wanted to be around her. Instead of moving towards her in friendship, I found myself wanting to distance myself from her. Immediately I thought of I Corinthians 13:7 in which Paul states that "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things" (ESV). If that's what love is, I definitely wasn't loving this friend. I wasn't believing the best of her. I was projecting my skewed perspective onto her and her actions, and essentially placing myself above her as judge. I allowed my sensitivity to lead me down a very twisted path.

But being sensitive isn't all bad. The other side to it is that I have the capacity to feel deep compassion for people. To hurt with them when they are hurting. And (on a good day) to rejoice with them when they are rejoicing. I can empathize with others. I can pick up on the emotional temperature in a room of people and try to act accordingly. God has wired me this way, and there is tremendous potential for good...if  I recognize that sometimes my feelings distort the reality of a situation. Sometimes they turn me inward, causing me to focus on my wounds and how I've been wronged (whether or not I really have been) instead of outward, where I can see others and their hurts and needs.

So, tonight, as I was thinking through this whole sensitivity issue and what a problem it can be, especially for my poor husband, these words came to mind: I need thicker skin. But then I had this image of growing callous and building up walls around my heart, and I thought, no that's not what I want. And I realized that years of trying to stuff what I feel has had pretty negative consequences..And then this prayer formed in my heart, Lord give me thick skin, but a soft heart.

I want thick skin to be able to persevere through challenging circumstances.
I want thick skin to brush off words that hurt, but are simply misspoken--and to forgive when sometimes they are spoken to hurt
I want thick skin to bear and believe and hope all things.

But I want a soft heart that's sensitive to the voice of Jesus.
I want a soft heart to feel deeply for the hurting--and then allow those feelings to move me to deeds of mercy.
I want a soft heart to receive the love of my husband.

And maybe it's soft hearts that actually enable thick skin. Because hearts softened by Jesus operate out of truth instead of lies. Because hearts softened by Jesus have been forgiven much, and can therefore love much...the tough, persevering, best-believing, outward-seeing-kind of love.

By the way, I still have Jingles. Right now, she is making her home with my little niece, Hadley. Maybe I'll give her to my own little girl one day. And maybe I'll tell her about how the Lord can use her own double edged sword (whatever it may be), and use it fashion her into the image of her Savior.

"...My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (II Cor. 12:9. ESV)