Every once in a blue moon, you meet one of those incredible people who fall into the category of what Anne of Green Gables would refer to as a “kindred spirit.” It’s an entirely biblical concept, which is dreadfully handy, and in I Samuel 18 we find that David and Jonathan were two average extraordinary guys who had that instant connection to the point where it has been written of them that Jonathan loved David as his own soul, and that their souls were “knit together.” (Which is possibly biblical justification for saying that knitting is superior to crocheting, but check the Greek).

I adore the concept of kindred spirits. It just…tickles my funny bone and makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside—kind of like a moldy peach on a hot day in Georgia.

Lately I’ve been thinking a fair amount about what exactly it IS that makes those kindred spirit friendships everything that they are…because hey, if you have the formula, technically that might be helpful, right? Theoretically.

I’ve been really blessed in that I have more than one of those friendships in my life. There’s something remotely magical about each and every one of them.

But what’s characteristic of those friendships?

Well, for starters, they’re emotionally safe friendships. When you spend time with that individual, you know without asking—from experience and from everything that you’ve observed of the person’s character—that they love you, that you love them, and that what is said or done in the context of that friendship is done honestly. There’s no pressure to try to impress, or to pretend to be who we’re not—there’s freedom to be honest about our insecurities, our fears, our failures, and our doubts, as well as the knowledge that that person will rejoice enthusiastically with us in our joys, our victories, and our successes.

Secondly, they protect confidentiality. They know when it’s appropriate to share things outside of the friendship, and when it’s not, and if they’re not sure, they’re willing to ask.

Thirdly, they accept you just as you are without asking or demanding that you change. But they love you enough to challenge you when you head off in the wrong direction.

Fourthly, they’re passionate about the same things that are close to your own heart as well. Whether it’s a burden for homeless people, or the drive to encourage young Christians to create and maintain discipleship accountability relationships with older men and women in the church, or simply a joyful enthusiasm for smashing spiders with rolled newspapers on the weekend, your fundamental drives—the things that really make you tick—are probably nearly the same.

Fifthly, there’s a willingness to overlook faults and laugh off idiosyncrasies that could otherwise be annoying. Willingness to extend grace is a huge part of every friendship, but in kindred spirit friendships, there’s a tacit understanding that we will look for the best in each other, applaud each other’s strengths, ignore the quirks that don’t matter anyway, be honest with each other about our faults, and be open to accountability.

Sixthly, there’s a selfless love that looks at the other person and chooses to see the things that make them incredible, regardless of whether or not others recognize the same thing.

And seventhly (which may not be a word?), they’re joyful people whose presence is life-giving, whose enthusiasm is contagious, and whose love for God, life, and people exudes from them abundantly.

And for all of the above reasons, when you’re with these people, you feel like you’re a little bit more you and a little bit more alive than you could ever be without them. Which is so awesome that it just kinda makes me want to go joyfully murder some spiders with a rolled-up newspaper.

Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out! –Romans 11:33

But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by a human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. For I know of nothing against myself, yet I am not justified by this; but He who judges me is the Lord. Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and reveal the counsels of the hearts. Then each one’s praise will come from God. –I Corinthians 4:3-5

God as my Judge. What an AWESOME concept it is to know that it is ultimately before an Audience of One that I stand or fall! And that from time immemorial into the boundless infinite of the future, this One is unchanging.

I have been marveling this past week—silently, and sometimes very sleepily late at night over a cup of tea in the kitchen while having stare-down competitions with one of my landlord’s many felines—over the eternal, undying, permanent, life-giving nature of the freedom which is ours in Christ.

If freedom were simply the removal of finite chains, this would be such a poor excuse for liberty, because chains—both mental, physical, and spiritual—are so easily put in place again…sometimes by others, and sometimes by ourselves.

But the freedom which is ours through Christ is so much more than that…something that quietly, insistently, gloriously, permanently transforms us from the inside out, takes all that is dead and broken within and breathes life and health into it again. And we are changed, and made new, and we are given purpose, and meaning, and significance, and worth—because He is the God Who sees, the God Who is there, the God who loves with an undying, transformative, redemptive love that changes and purifies and breathes life into everything it touches…the God who sees us in our insignificance and beckons to us, woos us, draws us, loves us, invites us to be a son, a daughter...to be a part of His worth, to share in His life, to be loved perfectly, to lose our insignificance in the grandeur and splendor of becoming a part of His omnipotent infinite holiness.

To love—and be loved by—such a God is to be changed; to be healed; to be made alive; and to be exceedingly, radically, counter-culturally different for the rest of your life.

I was sitting in the library this morning working intently on a paper when I heard rather loud footsteps coming up behind me. Not loud, actually—more like…clompy footsteps. Like a very small elephant or a very large alligator.

It broke my concentration enough that I looked up from my laptop to see what or who was passing by, and when I did so, I found myself looking straight into the sparkling blue eyes of a completely adorable little man with Downs syndrome.

He paused for a minute, looking me up and down quizzically, and then a smile like the rising of the sun lit up his whole face.

Oh my goodness. I wanted to just grab him up and give him a very big bear hug, but I realized that this probably would have somewhat shocked and frightened the very prim-and-proper looking matron who appeared to be acting the part of caretaker.

So I simply smiled a very big smile, and winked at the little man, which elicited a joyful little chuckle that was the most hilarious thing I’ve heard all day, and he was off on his merry way.

And I was left to ponder the incredible beauty of innocent, childlike emotion freely and trustingly expressed—ah, it gets me every time.

When I feel that who I am is not enough…why, naturally, I must pretend to be someone that I am not…because by carefully doing all that I can to control others’ perceptions of reality, I can determine my own reality…yes? Or perhaps…no.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot in the past two weeks—about the underlying insecurity from which such ideology springs, and about the ways that we perpetuate and encourage this kind of reasoning in our culture.

Even within the church—or maybe especially within the church—it seems to me that perhaps we’ve fallen prey to the world of facades, where the pretense of sophistication and the appearance of wealth and the social standing of our friends are more important to us than the real, vibrant, messy, relational (and sometimes ugly) existence to which we’ve been called.

See, here’s the thing: Christ didn’t come to rescue the person we pretend to be. He actually came to rescue and redeem the person that we ARE.

What I sometimes wonder is if the façade—the pretense of having it all together, or the putting on of airs in order to feel that one is high-class, or the unending and unfulfilling search for respect and popularity that dictates the life-course of many individuals…is this an attempt to hide from ourselves the reality of who we truly are? Are we claiming to find our significance—our worth, our sense of purpose and meaning—in Christ…and yet frantically searching in the meantime to find it elsewhere?

With each passing year, the more firmly I am convinced that there is very little that we can do, say, or train ourselves to think, that can disguise what Francis Schaeffer refers to as the “mannishness” of man. There is an earthy mortality and futility to the way that the human race is naturally inclined to think, perceive, and reason about his world, his fellows, and his God. And it is this earthy mortality which we try to disguise by dressing it in any number of colorful paper hats—success, beauty, lively personality, conversational skills, social finesse. It’s not that these things are pointless. But they are not the point in and of themselves, and I think that too often, we take the means to the end and we put it in the place of the goal itself.

Last week, I was conversing with someone and as I did so, found myself realizing in the back of my mind that I find this person very intimidating. And then I started asking myself why…and I realized that it was because I feel like I don’t measure up when I compare myself to this particular individual. Sometimes you meet someone who’s got you beat in every area: they’re smarter, better looking, more articulate, more educated, can think faster, dress better, and have more money than you do. Oh, and they probably can trace their family tree back to Adam and Eve and happen to be related to every major famous person that one possibly could be, and yes, they are very, very much aware of the fact that they themselves are the embodiment of all of the best and most noble character traits of each and every one of those famous relatives, to be sure. Ok, so maybe not quite. But sometimes it feels like that, and sometimes…I allow that to intimidate me.

Why? Because…I can’t claim any of that. I grew up on a farm, milking dairy goats, feeding chickens, trapping mice, falling out of trees, and getting bucked off of horses. Most of my ideas about relationships, family, and the importance of values come from things I learned from my mom and dad, my five siblings, and my tiny church family. I shop at WalMart, and I absolutely hate having to pay more than $30 for a pair of jeans…or any other article of clothing, for that matter. I am not above eating at McDonalds. I don’t know the names of half of the fancy food items on the menu in an upscale restaurant, and it doesn’t bother me to admit that I don’t know.

I often times feel that those who try hardest to come across as sophisticated, intelligent, high-class, and elite are actually the most insecure, the least “real,” and the most guarded people out there—which isn’t really that attractive if you think about it. Although sometimes, despite the fact that it’s not attractive, it apparently is…still intimidating? I know. Makes no sense to me either.

But in thinking about the whole thing a little this past week, one of the thoughts that popped into my head was that ultimately, we feel intimidated only when we lose sight of the fact that our worth isn’t found in our pocketbook, our manners, our friends, our popularity, or our family tree—it’s rooted and grounded in Christ, who has redeemed us and called us His own.

And the thing that should always impress us more than anything else in the world is someone whose beautiful, genuine, real heart and honest adoration for God and love for people shines through in their countenance, their words, their actions, and their lives—this is truly impressive. There will always be people with brilliant, shiny exteriors—but if the heart doesn’t match that shiny exterior, we often find that these same individuals are shockingly empty on the inside. And life was not meant to be lived by hollow people.

We are saved by grace, made loveable only because of His mercy, forgiven because out of the depths of His compassion He felt pity on the brokenness of our souls and reached down to intervene on our behalf. And that should change our hearts…and our thinking. Which will eventually change our countenances, control our actions, and alter the course of our existences…but probably will never give us a family tree containing all of the most illustrious individuals ever to grace the human race with their presence on planet earth. Why? Oh, because…that doesn’t actually matter. Yeah. Pretty much not.