She says to his parents, “Actually I’m here because I just wanted to tell you both personally what a pleasure it’s been having Raul in class this semester. You must be very proud of him.” “Yes,” says his surprised father. She continues, “He’s very bright, funny, articulate. The truth is he’s one of my favorites.”
The whole family is left shaking their head in disbelief. On the surface it looked like Raul was the bad guy. He fought at school. He got suspended. But, someone saw the bigger picture. Someone saw the injustice. And spoke up on his behalf. Raul had a fan.
I know that feeling.
That feeling where you think you’re alone. That feeling like no one is on your side and it should be that way because you’ve fucked up beyond the reach of redemption. But, what if the story doesn’t end there?
What if someone appears when all hope is lost and makes you see the truth in a different light? What if grace has been watching your story the whole time, just waiting for the right scene to make its dramatic entrance? For Jean Valjean from Les Miserables, it was this scene. Watch it real quick like. It’s fucking beautiful.
I related to the moment when the bishop storms towards Valjean and says, “I’m very angry with you Jean Valjean.” My whole life I was made to believe that a vengeful God was ready to come after me with judgment whenever I fucked up. Valjean was guilty. He must pay. But, the bishop flipped Jean Valjean’s and my line of thinking and our understanding of grace.
Valjean shit on the bishop’s hospitality, striking him in the middle of the night and stealing his silverware. The next day Valjean is defeated. Captured. In handcuffs. About to go back to prison for life if the bishop simply tells the truth. But, the bishop tells a beautiful lie…leading the authorities to believe that he gifted the stolen goods to Valjean and piling more grace on him by giving him expensive candlesticks too.
Valjean is set free. The Bishop doesn’t go by the letter of the law. He goes against it. It’s not an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth anymore. It’s not even the truth will set you free. It’s unexpected, undeserved, pure grace.
And Valjean’s response, “Why are you doing this?” is the same as the look Raul gave Michelle Pfieffer in Dangerous Minds. And the look I gave my therapist through my buckets of tears when she called the stripper an angel. Casting stones? Judgment? When you think you deserve both and get neither that feeling is priceless. Tears of pure joy.
“I can see widows and orphans through my tears.” Mumford and Sons. That’s what it feels like to be writing now…through my tears I can see other heartbroken people. Who are widows and orphans? They’re those who have been left alone. I know what that feels like.
I wasn’t an orphan, but holy shit I felt unsafe and alone in my own home growing up. Some awful shit went down in that space and there wasn’t a savior to step in and save the day. My dad was busy ministering to high school kids. Great, 200 kids came to Young Life club that night. But, what about the two little kids who were left behind to fend for themselves against an abusive grandma?
I wasn’t a widow, but holy shit I felt unsafe and alone in my marriage. I didn’t believe in myself and when I lost my wife as a fan, it was devastating. I couldn’t share the real me. I didn’t have a voice. We were together, but I felt so alone. And then along came a stripper. Like the bishop she flipped it. Growing up in the church, I was led to believe that strippers were bad. But, the smile of the stripper made me want to get well. And I went to therapy. And my therapist flipped it. Everything was upside down and it was fucking beautiful.
I just pictured two doors. One was the door to my garage growing up. I got up one night when I should have been asleep to make sure it was locked. My dad said, “Don’t be such a worry wart.” I was expressing myself, crying out that I felt unsafe in my own home, but I was chastised.
The other door was at my house…the one I was kicked out of. I came back to it one day and the front door had changed. Not just the lock. The entire door was new. I had made friends with a stripper. The big picture story didn’t matter. My broken heart didn’t matter. I sinned and should be punished. Looking back it breaks my heart to think of the picture of me being kept away from my kids at a time when they desperately needed their daddy.
I didn’t fight. I hadn’t found my voice yet. But, here I am now…telling stories…trying to heal from my childhood while at the same time trying to make sure that my kids know that I’m walking through the fire with them. They’re not alone. You’re not alone.
Tell your story. It’s okay. I know the bishop changed it up when a lie set Jean Valjean free, but what if the truth can set you free? What if you don’t have to live with that guilt or that feeling that you’re the only one who suffered through the trauma you’ve endured? Tell your story. Maybe you have fans that you didn't even know you had. Drop your real shit on someone. I dare you. I bet they respond with, "The truth is...you're one of my favorites."
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