Duct-Taping Our Way to Popularity
A couple of years ago, I needed to sew a hem in some pants for my son for his choir concert. At that time, the most sewing experience I had was a semester in seventh grade. I had forgotten most of the basics, and the sewing machine I owned was still in the box. So, I dragged that contraption out and tried to get acquainted.
Fast forward to well past midnight and I was frustrated, tired, and the pants still weren’t sewn. I told the sewing machine it could go to hell and I got out some duct tape and hemmed those pants up good.
I’m often reminded that I’ve chosen to do life in a way that is vastly counter-cultural, and not just in the way I handle sewing projects. I homeschool our five kids and my husband is in the Navy. That puts our family in the maybe 2 percent of kids who homeschool, way above the national average of 1.8 kids per couple, and my husband inside the 1 percent of Americans in military service.
I bet you could look at your life and find places like that, too, where you find yourself outside the popular mainstream. Maybe your family does missions work. Maybe you have a special needs kiddo. Maybe you are a female entrepreneur. Maybe you hate football.
The thing is, even with all our oddities, we’re expected to maintain an appearance of fitting in.
No one knew that under my son’s pant legs there was a patchwork of duct tape instead of neatly sewn seams. To the audience, he looked like all the other kids on stage.
Do you ever feel like you never left junior high, with all its popularity contests, and that everyone else might just be faking it, too? If you grew up when I did, in order to have any social standing, you had to at least be wearing Doc Martens, have a head full of Aqua Net, and know all the lyrics to ’N Sync’s self-titled album. Our culture’s popularity standards can be shockingly strange.
Popularity standards can be hard work to reach, too. When I was in junior high (apparently not learning to sew), I tried to be cool for about a semester. Then I discovered laziness was a much more feasible option. It was just too dang much work to try to be popular, what with all that makeup and hair—not to mention the clothes my parents would never have bought me. Also, I’m short, and it seemed that all the popular girls were tall. Since there wasn’t any hope of that changing, I simply gave up trying to be cool.
Maybe we all should give up the popularity contest in church too.
What if it’s not really that important that we hold a particular political view, supported by proof-texts? (The other side has a strong proof-text game, too.) Jesus told one guy to “sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me,” (Mark. 10:21 ESV). Then Paul’s ministry was supported only a few years later by generous, entrepreneurial women of means.
I’m certain that Jesus doesn’t want us all to look/dress/act/speak like the cool kids in our churches, workplaces, and families. God doesn’t care whether we wear makeup or what kind of style we have at worship. As Peter wrote, “Do not let your adorning be external—the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear—but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God’s sight is very precious” (1 Pet. 3:3-4).
Perhaps, (gasp!) the parishioners around us are blessed to hear our rowdy kids in the pew during worship. Maybe they even see it as proof that God is moving among the young. We know he said, “Let the little children come to me” (Matt. 19:14).
We’re not actually designed to be clones of one another. God’s plan for his church includes a lot of different-looking, differently-skilled parts. “Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it. And God has appointed in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers, then miracles, then gifts of healing, helping, administrating, and various kinds of tongues. Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? Do all possess gifts of healing? Do all speak with tongues? Do all interpret? But earnestly desire the higher gifts” (1 Cor. 12: 27-31).
What if we use our anxiety about fitting in as a segue for prayer?
I think the higher gift is the peace that we don’t have to worry about what others think, only what God thinks. We like to think Jesus was being comforting when, in Luke 12, He tells us to “Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows,” (Luke 12: 7), but Jesus lays it out hard and plain just before that when He said, “I will warn you whom to fear: fear him who, after he has killed, has authority to cast into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him!” Desire the higher gifts; don’t be led astray by all the lower nonsense.
I think God is gratified when we start digging deep into His Word after we’ve found that we hold an unpopular opinion. He loves it when we lean not on our own understanding, but on hard facts of Christ’s work on the cross.
By all appearances, the people in the pews next to us have their lives together in myriad ways we do not. But they’re probably just nervous seventh graders, worried about fitting in.
By all appearances, the other choir parents had their kids’ pants professionally hemmed weeks before the concert. I’m sure they have their lives together in myriad ways I do not, and they probably never, ever leave the house without their makeup.
But you know what? Those duct-taped pants worked just as well, and they held up in the wash just fine.
is a homeschooling mom of five and proud Navy wife. She works hard to be what Chesterton called a “Jill-of-all-trades,” chronically trying new projects for the sheer joy of exploration. She’s addicted to coffee, enjoys dark beer, and loves to be in the mountains. She writes at HomeschooFamilyCulture.com, and you can find her on Instagram @rhikutzer.
Photograph © David Hurley, used with permission
