The slippery slope of the curmudgeonly

or how hard it is to change unhealthy, ever bothersome behavior that I change but then just can’t seem to keep it changed. Gasp! That was a big title that required all my breath.

Being alone has always been my happy place. When I’m alone it’s like I’m in this luxurious room that was designed just for me. It’s got books galore, the best movies, Max, my dog, music when I want it, quiet when I need it, my laptop and, of course, a scented candle. I don’t have to be careful about what I say. I don’t have to evaluate my conversations when I get home. Basically, I don’t have to…talk to anyone.

You see, I have a bit of a social anxiety. It’s not debilitating by any stretch of the imagination. It would be easier if it was. Easier in allowing me to say no to invitations that come my way. But that is not the case. When I say no to an invite, I’m simply being selfish. I like to be alone. Not caring, in the moment, that I’m discarding people, often hurting their feelings. But it’s just one “no,” right? Nope. Ever so slowly, I begin to say no more often and my room, formerly known as my penthouse, begins to shrink. And before I know it, it’s become a crawl space. And I’ve become a rabid animal, snapping and growling at people who want to force me out.

I wish I didn’t do this, but I do. I’ve been in that crawl space one too many times and each time, once I become aware of it or it’s pointed out to me (bravely because I’m growling), I apologize. Deeply. Because that’s not who I am or who I want to be. The Apostle Paul’s got it right when he says, “I do what I don’t want to do and what I don’t want to do, I do”. Or as I like to call it, the curmudgeon syndrome.

Curmudgeonry is a sneaky little sucker. And we’ve all got some form of it. And more than one. I don’t want to list all my curmudgeonries to you because I’d like you to like me. But trust me, I’ve got more than one. More than one unhealthy behavior. We all do. Yours might be selfishness, a short fuse, a slanderous tongue, a lazy disposition, a critical attitude, perfectionism, substance abuse, self-doubt, pride. The list is endless. But because we’re all sinners and fall short of the glory of God, we’ve got curmudgeons in our lives that we battle. And will continue to battle on this side of heaven.

The first time this particular curmudgeon was pointed out to me, I got right on it. After apologizing, I went to God. In I Corinthians, Paul (we now know to be a fellow curmudgeoner) says this, “We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”

That’s right, I took it captive. But then…it came back. It keeps coming back even though each time I’m certain that I’ve got it licked, that I’ve got my curmudgeon under control. But that’s not how it works. It’s got to be a lifestyle of going to God with our curmudgeons on a regular basis and making them obedient.

There are times when I look at my path to God and find it to be so pretty with rich grass and beautiful flowers and shrubbery. But then it hits me. It's in bad shape. I'm in bad shape. My path to God should be a mess. Dirty. Muddy. Rocky. Uneven. Worn down. With nothing growing on it. Because when it’s a mess, it means that I'm constantly - daily, hourly, minutely (is that word?) - however much is needed, beating a path to God to get my curmudgeons under his control.

I wish I didn't have these curmudgeons, and I certainly don’t like my curmudgeons to be out in the open for others to see, but they always end up appearing. So I've got to just keep at it, keep owning them. “Yep, that’s my curmudgeon. I’m so deeply sorry. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got somewhere to go.” And then run. Run hard. And don’t stop running until I get there. And then give that curmudgeon to Jesus…again. It’s the only way for me to truly be free: living on the run. Living in joy. Living a life that is curmudgeon free.