These days scruff is all the rage. I wish I could grow a real beard that I could be cool like all the real men in the world, but alas, a neard is all I can manage (that’s a neck beard for those not hip to the lingo). Most of the people that I spend time with are pros at appearing disheveled and disorganized while still actually being well put together. I tend to fall somewhere in the middle between disheveled and put together, mostly because that is an accurate representation of my life! I embody those that don’t care and don’t try, but unfortunately aren’t apathetic enough to actually look cool.

It would appear I’m pretty rough around the edges.

Part of me is quite content being frayed; I’m a twenty-three year old punk kid who speaks his mind too often and thinks he knows much more than he actually does. This piece of me thrives on being judged and oft looked down on for being a bit mangled. I try to convince myself that this is either building character or that it is the actual manifestation of a character I’ve already thoroughly developed. While some would say those statements may actually have a bit of clout, I’m not too sure they do anymore.

There is another part of me that is beaten up; this is not the strong-willed portion of me referred to above, rather it is the part of me that actually feels rough, feels bruised and broken. This part sees the part above as an illness, an infection that has the potential to slip deeper and deeper into my being until I am no longer rough around the edges, but rough the whole way through. This part fears rejection and criticism and hides alone, wondering if the arrogant piece of me will wither away. This part has lost all hope that a change can be made and that a man can be redeemed.

There is one other prominent piece of me that doesn’t make an appearance as often as it should: the repentant, humbled part that looks to God with hope and promise. This part understands that youth will make a man proud and talent even more so. This part is assured that change will come and that a man will arise from the ashes of a tattered boy. This part wishes deeply to learn and grow, leaning on strong men who have already made the journey. That piece of me has given up, not hope, but control. It prays to a perfect God for courage and honor to be given to an imperfect man so that he can be fully invested in his Lord’s plan.

Can you take a guess which piece is rearing its ugly, feeble head today? 

I know that change happens, but I’m also aware that it takes time. In my opinion it’s not the changing that’s hard, it’s the patience to see it completed. As Eugene Peterson put it, it is a long obedience in the same direction. My task now is to cling to obedience; to cling to that part of me that believes in the promises God has made, to seek God expectantly. I am not now who I will be, but I am no longer who I was and there is certainly peace in that.

Thoughts?