Ribbons (Garden #2)

I’m tangled up. I’m in the Garden and I’m laying on the soft grass and I’m trying to get up to get some water because I am so thirsty, but I can’t get up. My arms are stuck to my sides and my legs feel as if they’re taped together. I look down at myself and am shocked to see dark purple ribbons woven together, all over my body. But it’s more than just something I can see on my skin. I can feel these ribbons pulling at my heart. I can feel them twisting my very soul, the thing that’s impossible to explain to people who don’t immediately know what I mean when I say “soul.” The reality is that I’ve always felt the ribbons pulling at my soul; I have in fact welcomed them into my heart. Because when I started, it felt good! But this is the first time I’ve noticed them outside of my body, and it’s the first time I’ve recognized how suffocating they feel to my soul.

I can make out some lettering on one of the ribbons. The font is a dark color and seems to be moving around. But I can read it: friend. I’m confused by this, because why would “friend” be restricting me? I try to read another one, which is a chore because of the strain of trying to hold my head up while laying on the ground. This one says life of the party. Oh, man! Someone just called me that the other day, and it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me. We were at a barbecue and I was telling jokes.

As this thought crosses my mind, a ribbon with the word funny written on it squeezes ever so tighter across my upper belly. I can feel my eyes bulge as I frantically read some of the other words: businessman, husband, father, republican, former football player, Broncos fan, American, volunteer.

As usually happens when I’m in the Garden, I realize too late that the Holy Spirit is present. I feel a faint, fleeting breath of air beside me. The Holy Spirit, who was previously sitting silently on the hammock, is now crouched down next to my head. He’s holding something: a white ribbon. It’s brilliantly white, almost hurts my eyes, and has remarkably gold lettering that I can’t quite read. This ribbon is long enough and wide enough to envelop my entire body. At its presence, all the dark ribbons on my body and in my soul tighten their grip. I struggle to reach for this ribbon because I know that I need it immediately. What I thought the dark, purple ribbons were doing is nothing compared to what that shining ribbon will do. I’ve been fooled, bamboozled, tricked into a cheap imitation of that white ribbon, and all I want to do is be wrapped up in it.

I cry out to the Holy Spirit, tears forming in my eyes because of the tightness of the dark ribbons. It’s getting tough to breathe and I realize this has been happening for years now, but I’ve never noticed it.

The Holy Spirit whispers something--always whispering, always frustratingly quiet--and I stop wrestling for a second to hear what he said. I hear or sense a question being asked: Who are you?

That’s ridiculous I think to myself. I tell the Holy Spirit my name as if he doesn’t already know. But I realize that’s not enough, that’s not what he’s looking for. So I continue. I’m a businessman, husband, father of three, conservative voter, former high school football player, Denver Broncos fan, proud American, volunteer at church, sometimes funny adult who lives in the suburbs. But those things don’t sound right. And I can’t see the Holy Spirit, but I sense him shaking his head: no. It’s then that I can read the writing on the white ribbon. It says “Child of God.”

I roll my eyes. Yes, of course, that’s the most obvious, important one. But as I think about it, that’s one of the last ways I would describe myself. But understanding that feels good--so good that some of the dark ribbons fall off. It’s like they’re melting off my body. It’s still difficult to breathe though. I look down again, and another layer of ribbons have been revealed.

These are more intimidating, nefarious words--things that I’ve never dealt with before. They’re a deeper purple, and they’re pulled so tightly that they dig into my skin. Things like overweight, sinner, porn addict, angry, abandoned, drunk, insecure. I can’t even look at the ribbons without feeling shame. They all describe me. And I’ve worked so hard to conceal them under layers of other titles. I want people to notice my profession, my family, my personality, my church attendance, even my politics. But now that those positive things have melted away, only my biggest secrets remain.

I turn my head toward the Holy Spirit and His white ribbon. No words are necessary--the Holy Spirit knows my thoughts. I take a deep breath and beg the Holy Spirit to take away these other identities. I beg him to replace these false, destructive words with the only title that matters: Child of God. I know what this means: all of my titles, even the ones I think are positive, won’t matter anymore. The things I’ve taken comfort in, the ways I’ve tried to build myself up, are useless in comparison to the identity the Holy Spirit wants to give me.

The ribbons begin to unwind, and I can hear them scream as they fall. They don’t want to come off, but my built-up identities are nothing compared to the Holy Spirit. When they’re all gone, I feel exposed and vulnerable. The Holy Spirit gently places the white ribbon around my body. He starts at my heart and works the ribbon all the way down to my feet. This ribbon is indescribably comfortable, allowing me to move freely. It’s light and joyful. I stand up and walk to the stream in the middle of the garden and drink deeply. This rediscovered identity is the only one I need.