Well, of course he did. "You get to be Joseph," the teacher told him.

The boy was proud what with his friends having to be sheep and cows and such. "What are my lines?" he asked his teacher.

"You don't have any," the teacher answered.

But what do I do?' the boy asked.

"You just stand there," the teacher said, "and make sure Mary doesn't look bad."

Have you been to a grade school nativity play? What does Joseph do? Other than stand at attention until his balance starts to give out...

After the play all the adults patted him on the head and said, "You were such a marvelous Joseph!"

"And I was so proud," the boy recalls. And then it occurs to him, "Wait a minute. If I'm such a great Joseph, how come I never once talked with Mary? If I'm such a great Joseph, how come I never once picked up the baby Jesus and sang him a song? If I'm such a great Joseph, how come I never offered coffee to the shepherds? I was only a great Joseph because I did what everyone said I should do. I was great because I was frozen."

I understand what that feels like.

Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote "the only true gift is a portion of yourself." 

You see, this is where I get stuck.  What exactly does this invitation allude to--this proposition or implication to just "be yourself?"  I do know this: we live in a world where that invitation is eclipsed by the enticement to "be somebody" (even a marvelous Joseph).  What does it mean to be your authentic "self" in a world, where for a few dollars (well, for quite a few dollars), any one of us can be a celeb-4-a-day.  Really.  It's a company that will have me followed by "paparazzi," taking photos, shouting my name and Enquiresque questions.  It'll be a scene, with cameras and commotion.  Heads will turn, people will point and wonder.  No, I'm not making this up.

One reporter, witnessing the phenomenon, asked passersby why they stopped, and why they used their cell phones to take pictures of the "celebrity."

"Do you know who that is?" the reporter asked one young woman who had stopped to take a photo.

"No." 

"Then why are you taking her photo?" 

"Because someday, she might be famous."

Enough said.  

American poet, May Sarton was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up.

"To be human," she answered, simply.

To be human is about regaining what has been lost in the shuffle when life has been relegated to keeping score and making waves.  

Thankfully, not every one of us wants to be famous. 

But every one of us wants to be human.  To be at home in our own skin. 

There is one taste, deep down, that seems unsatisfied.  And sometimes, I can't even name it.  But I know it is there.  However, in order to be human--in order to be my "self"--I must move past this insistence on arrival or closure.  It seems that no matter what it is--whether our identity, our faith, our calling--we feel compelled to nail it down.  

There's the rub.  It's not authenticity I want.  It's certainty (or security) that I'm after.

Fred Rogers--from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood--once said that his version of graciousness and meeting the deeper needs of others is "loving someone into existence."  Yes.  And here's the deal: that "someone" you love into existence, may be yourself.

What makes this journey (process) messy or confusing or derailing is this: it is not easy to trust a place of not knowing. 

A place of uncertainty.

A place without closure.

A place of risk and discomfort.

("I do so want to be my authentic self, but can we get on with it!!")  Perhaps we could all benefit from Antoine de Saint-Exupery's reminder, "To live is to be slooowly born."

You see, as long as closure is essential to me, I give in to the expectation that somewhere around the corner, God is waiting to bail me out. 

I asked one young friend, "So what's next for you?"

She replied, "I'm just waiting for God to show me what he wants from me."

Okay. 

But in the meantime, you know, until you have your life and self figured out, I have a suggestion:  Live today.  Live this day, with this self, without holding back.  Today - savor, doubt, embrace, question, wrestle, give, risk, love, fall down, get up, accept your incomplete and fractured self, know that anything worth doing is worth doing badly, speak from your whole heart, and whenever you can, lavish excessive compassion and mercy on anyone who crosses your path.  Who knows, you may even love someone "into existence."

If you practice all of this while you're still waiting for God's instructions, I'm sure God won't mind.

You would think that my authentic self would be easier to locate (or at least easier to make peace with), in paradise.  I arrived this afternoon in Guatemala, and began savoring my rest and time away.  As I write this, my window is open to the patio. Outside the rain pummels, relentless, its sound the roar of a sold-out stadium. It reminds me of some of the rainstorms of my youth, when you could not hear yourself talk. I love hearing the spatter against metal and stone and wood. And I love its intensity, a ravenous supplication. And it makes me smile, with a picture of the hunger in my own soul, what David Whyte describes as "that small, bright and indescribable wedge of freedom" in my own heart.  Today, I can live with that.  And today, I hope, I can make choices from that place.

Kids--they dance before they learn there is anything that isn't music. William Stafford