As Seen On TV

I have a confession to make: I have a serious weakness for infomercials.  I don’t know what it is about three o’ clock in the morning, but if I’m watching TV and an infomercial comes on, I’m immediately interested.  My ears perk up like a dog’s when they’re offered a treat.  I’ll say to Seamus, “Look at that ridiculous thing.  Who would want it?”  I watch for a few minutes, and it turns out that I want it.  Always.  A tiny blender for smoothies?  Yes, please.  Jeans that feel like pajamas?  Sign me up.  A pillow that never gets hot?  I need that immediately.  A magic tube of sealant that is particularly good at fixing up cracks in your boat?  Why, yes, thank you.  But I never make the decision to buy until I hear these magic words: “If you order in the next thirty minutes, we’ll give you free shipping and handling.  For just 12 payments of 19.99, you, too, can own this!”  A payment plan AND free shipping?  I’m in.  So I hurry to buy in the next thirty minutes because I don’t want to miss the limited time offer (or the free gift, which is usually something delightfully random like a pair of scissors or a can opener.)

I’ve bought the blender, the pajama jeans, the pillow, the boat fixer—and I’ve returned every one.  I don’t drink smoothies, and we don’t have a boat, nor do I know any bodies of water around here where I would sail a boat if we did have one.  Also, it turns out that jeans are not meant to feel like pajamas and pillows will always, always get hot.

I do have post-infomercial shame.  Monty will see a charge on our credit card and ask me what it’s for.  And before I can compose a reasonable answer, he’ll say, “No, you didn’t.  What was it?”  In the light of day, it’s very difficult to explain why a person would purchase Tai Chi videos led by Dick van Dyke.  And it’s very sad when the product you tried to defend arrives and is nothing like you saw on TV.  Infomercials are probably the best example I can think of, of caveat emptor: buyer beware.  I know this at a rational level—but somehow the marketing of infomercial products robs me of all common sense, selling me on items I’d never buy at a store.

Try not to judge me.  Infomercials aren’t the only things on TV selling you a bill of goods.  I’d be willing to bet that at some point, you’ve bought into what they’re selling on TV.  Commercials, sitcoms, and “reality” TV all tell you what your ideal life should look like.  You should be happily married and have at least two adorable children.  You should have a sparkling clean house with an SUV in your driveway.  And you’ll need money to finance that house and car—which shouldn’t be a problem, because you should have a job that pays you an exorbitant amount for wearing trendy business attire while you pursue your passion.  You’ll also need to exercise in an adorable outfit so that you can be the perfect size to show off all the beautiful clothes you own.  You should only vacation in places where the water is turquoise and you can have a massage on the beach.  And don’t forget—you’ll need plenty of alcohol while you’re living this amazing life because it’s impossible to have fun without it.  Again and again, you’re told: You need this.  You should be this.  You should have this.

When I got sober, I didn’t just quit drinking and using.  I also quit buying into the myth of who and what I “should be.”  I decided I wanted a refund on that whole ideology— the payment plan for that life was tragically expensive.  Every time I tried to be like someone else or be what society told me I should be, I sold another piece of my soul.  I sought escape in substances because I couldn’t measure up to some yardstick that I arbitrarily defined as “good enough.” Striving for what I thought I should be was stripping me of all the qualities that made me unique—qualities that God had given me, specifically.

I recognize that many of those qualities are . . . odd.  I have never followed a traditional path, even when I wanted to.  I learned to read at three but didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was nine and a very patient uncle taught me.  I’ve had such severe arachnophobia my whole life that, according to my parents, my first words were “itto bido,” which meant “little spider.”  I’ve always existed mostly at night, when everyone else is asleep.  I live in pajamas ninety percent of the time and have actually gone to the store without remembering to change into “real” clothes.  I have cats, not children, and I fully believe that those cats know me, understand me, and love me like no one else does.  We have conversations, and my cats speak to me—with Irish accents.  I cannot for the life of me remember even the most basic things, yet I have an almost photographic memory of my childhood.  I forget to put milk back in the refrigerator, have put my glasses in the silverware drawer, and have almost never had a cup of hot tea because I make it, then forget I did.  I make to-do lists that say, “Find to-do list.”  My favorite music is gangsta rap, but Rachmaninoff touches chords deep in my soul.  I’m a recovering addict who often feels like I’m two steps from the ledge.  I’m an extreme introvert whose mental stability depends on writing and sharing my soul.  And I sometimes feel like a doll that arrived from the factory with broken parts.

And yet. . . and yet. . .God is teaching me to use the broken pieces, odd qualities, and damaged bits of my life for His glory.  He isn’t surprised by who I am or the life I’m living.  Psalm 139:15 says, “My frame was not hidden from You when I was being formed in secret and intricately and curiously wrought—as if embroidered with various colors—in the depths of the earth, a region of darkness and mystery.” (from the AMPC) My grandma taught me the art of hand embroidery, and she emphasized the importance of choosing the right thread colors so that my stitches would stand out in a unique and beautiful way.  I’m awed that God intricately chose the colors of my life.  All of my strange traits, quirks, and oddities are part of God’s deliberate design—each has its unique color that, when combined, actually form a vibrant picture that makes sense within God’s creative context.  He knew exactly what He was doing when He created me, and He knew why.  It’s pointless for me to fight against His purpose for me.

When Jesus died on the cross, He uttered the words, “It is finished.”  That phrase is from the Greek word “tetelestai,” which means “paid in full.”  Every single action I ever took that I shouldn’t have is forgiven and covered by the free gift of grace.  There’s no payment plan in God’s plan.  Once you discover the freedom of living the life God planned for you, you won’t want a refund.  You can be completely, incontrovertibly yourself—no matter how quirky or odd that self is—and still draw others to God.

Every good infomercial has testimonials, where delighted customers attest to the wonder of the product they are lucky enough to own.  Here’s mine: “I’ve found that there’s no better feeling than living the life God designed specifically for me.  He cherishes my uniqueness and uses it to give me a personal, specific purpose.  You, too, can experience this when you choose to embrace who God made you to be.  God is standing by, waiting for your call.  This is a limited time offer—you only have one life, and you’re wasting it if you’re trying to live it like someone else.  If you’re looking for fulfillment, joy, and purpose, you’ve just found it.  And your satisfaction is guaranteed.”

The best infomercial of all time.  I would have bought this—even without free shipping. . .