“He had an infectious laugh.”  “Her smile lit up the room.” “He was always thinking of others.” “She would do anything for you.” “He was the life of the party with his great sense of humor.” These are sentiments we’ve all heard at a funeral or read in an obituary. Sincere tributes to the person who passed away.  But I’ve often wondered…what about me?  What will people say about me when I’m gone?

Being a true introvert, I am far from the life of the party.  Rather, I am more likely to seek out the corner of the room and have a one-on-one conversation with someone else who is uncomfortable.  Better yet, if there is a dog or cat present, it becomes my buddy for the night.

While I have a sense of humor, it is not always appropriate or appreciated, and I’m not good at telling jokes. My smile does not light up the room.  I know this because, much to my annoyance, I have been told to “smile” more times than I can count.  Often, I must appear more upset than I actually am due to the amount of times people ask me, “What’s wrong?” or tell me to, “Cheer up!”   Excuse me,  I am just fine. I am simply pondering the mysteries of the universe, and it is none of your business, anyway.  Besides, this idea that women have to smile all the time is so sexist.  I mean, how many times have I seen a man with a scowl or serious expression on his face?  No one demands him to smile.

“She would do anything for you” is also not an apt description of me.  While I do try to be kind and merciful and generous, it doesn’t come naturally. I’m afraid I must admit that I am sometimes self-absorbed, and I’ve been known to complain if someone messes with my routine.  Ultimately, I usually do the right thing, but it doesn’t come easily.  I envy and am in awe of people who are so naturally kind, generous, and loving.

A quote from C.S. Lewis in “Mere Christianity” gives me comfort:

“…But if you are a poor creature…nagged day in and day out by an inferiority complex that makes you snap at your best friends–do not despair. He knows all about it. You are one of the poor whom He blessed. He knows what a wretched machine you are trying to drive…”

I see my temperament as one of those “wretched machines.” I am not by nature a joyful Christian.  Trying to be Christ-like, for me, requires effort.  I know people who are by nature more loving  and Christ-like than me who have  not professed a relationship with God. Lewis explains this by going on further to say that having a “nice” temperament  is God’s gift to us, not our gift to God. In other words, friendly, charming people are sometimes just born that way, it is not through any great effort of their own. Regardless, we are all expected to use and grow our God-given gifts wisely no matter what temperament we have been given.

Finally, I am reminded of a quote that I heard from a priest on  retreat.  He said,

“Every prophet is a pain in the a**, but not every pain in the a** is a prophet.”

We all know some of those non-prophet types.

But as I’ve grown older, I hesitate to speak my mind less and less–especially in church related matters.  While I choose to practice my faith in the Catholic Church, I am not what you would describe as a good, obedient Catholic.  I have even confronted priests at times when I thought their behavior was not fitting of their position. My spiritual directors have all, for the most part, encouraged me.  One of them warned me that if I ticked off a certain priest, he could remove me from my ministries. It was a risk that I was willing to take. (He didn’t by the way).

And remember John the Baptist? Do you think he had a smile that lit up the room?  Does he strike you as someone who would do anything for anyone?  I can’t imagine him with an “infectious laugh.”  Since he was beheaded by King Herod, we know that not everyone liked him.  He was concerned for others, I’ll give him that…baptizing everyone, including Jesus, in the Jordan River…and Jesus loved him!

My point is this, you don’t have to be liked by everyone.  You just need to do God’s will for your life with the machine He has given you.  I don’t want to take away from all the lovely, kind, smiling, and generous people who have left this world empty and mourning their loss.  I just want to suggest that it might not be such a bad thing to be remembered as a “pain in the a**.”

 

Lewis, C. S. (1952). Mere Christianity. New York: MacMillan Pub.