Unmasked.

I walked on the cracked soil (our home is the desert!) and rocky patches of the soccer field at the children’s home, praying for the little faces that had just been smiling up into mine as they waved me over to play with them.  Praying because they seemed to be perfectly happy and normal children as we played, yet I knew differently.  Most of them had been left by parents who could not afford to take care of them (I can’t begin to imagine this pain, for the child or for the parent), or who, in some cases, did not have any living family members who could care for them.

Orphans aren’t limited to those whose parents have died.  A death of sorts happens when a person feels abandoned by those whom he trusted to care for him physically and emotionally.

Already one of the faces I’d seen earlier was impressed on my mind, and I prayed very hard for this little person.  I stopped by a tree near the goalpost, and I prayed for this child’s root system to be transformed so his branches and leaves could stretch toward the Son and grow and give shade to others.  I had noticed earlier that morning that this child was showing protectiveness and care for the younger ones in the children’s home, and somehow I started praying, “Lord, help him to be brave enough to face his own brokenness in Your light instead of hiding in responsibilities, tasks, roles, and busyness.

Wait.  What?

I don’t like to admit what I did next: I felt stunned for a moment, then I shed crocodile tears, standing on the cracked, dry soil, standing before Jesus, standing unmasked.  Basically, my prayer for this child was a prayer for me, too.  I realized that so many people, myself included — grown-up people who think we “have our lives together” and who grew up in good homes — so many people are hiding.  We hide in busyness.  We hide in work projects.  We hide in e-mails and agendas and meetings and grocery shopping and laundry and going to the gym and errand running.  We hide in our roles and responsibilities, and we avoid authenticity.  We answer “Fine, how are you?” when people ask us how we are.  It’s rare that we share our real journeys, the authenticity of what’s going on in our hearts (even the ugly) over a cup of coffee with someone trustworthy who will go there with us.

When did we ever decide that hiding was healthy and made us strong?

God forgive me for the times I hide, pushing aside authenticity because it’s easier.  How many times have I made other precious daughters and sons of the King feel as though they must hide as well because their hearts were not welcomed by mine?

May it never be that another heart avoids the path of healing because I was not a safe place where she could be real, to lift off the mask and know that she had space to breathe and process and let Jesus deal with and tend to whatever scrapes, cuts, bruises or gashes life had dealt her.  Likewise, may it never again be that I hide myself, robbing Jesus of the glory of being my Healer when I allow Him to unmask me.

We stand together on this dry, cracked earth.  Unmask us, Jesus.