Don’t Live For Others

Have you ever thought about the hidden danger of being Mary Poppins?

The Disney version of the world’s coolest nanny is pretty, delightful, boundlessly creative, and a good singer on top of it all. Everyone, children and adults alike, adore and admire her, and she’s quite perceptive about the world.

Then, once she’s solved everyone’s problems, made people happy, and become a legendary figure, she just…drifts away.

She doesn’t really need anyone else—she’s practically perfect in every way, after all. And I can’t be the only one who’s thought, watching the Disney movie, that she seems rather lonely, despite the fact that she never seems to exhibit a stray emotion.

And it makes me wonder…is there a difference between being a beloved person…and being loved as a person?

Because, while I’m sure the Banks children will miss their temporary governess, are they really missing Mary Poppins herself, or just her magic? Just what she could do and the atmosphere she created? Come to think of it, we know very little about Mary herself. Not much slips through the controlled image she projects.

Disney producer Thomas Schumacher put it this way: “Who of us doesn’t want a Mary Poppins in our life? Someone to love us unconditionally, to be magical but not too sappy, to enchant us and to make everything right, and then to leave us to do it on our own.”

It’s a very good description. Anyone would want a Mary Poppins.

But I don’t think anyone would want to be one.

And yet, sometimes we are. Sometimes—often—I am.

Why?

Partly, it’s fear. Deep down, sometimes we doubt if we’re really all that likeable. If very few people really know us, they can’t hurt us, right? It’s easier, sometimes, to keep up a practical perfect persona than to risk others sticking around when we let it slip.

And then there’s pride. If we can do it all on our own—if they need us but we rarely need them—that makes us feel good about ourselves and our abilities. Admitting we are not fine or don’t know or need to talk would make that come crashing down in the time it takes to say “Please help.”

And maybe that’s the most dangerous thing about this: it looks so…holy from the outside.

We give of our time and energy and resources until we feel empty…but we never give ourselves, the most carefully-guarded parts of us, anyway. We are willing to serve, but never to accept service. We accept admiration and become a loveable icon and hope that it will be enough to make us feel acceptable and useful and worthy.

It won’t. It can’t be. If you live for others, you will soon find that they are fallible and frail, just like you. They can love you, and some of them will. They can see Jesus in your weakest attempts at imitating him. They are worthy of your time and attention, even when you feel you don’t have much left.

But they cannot give you purpose.

Don’t misunderstand me. There is beauty in giving, even to the point where you surrender your own desires over and over again for others. In an era where empowerment and self-fulfillment are virtues, I want to say something completely different, to applaud the quietly heroic sacrifices that many around me make every day.

But I also want to remind you, gently, that it’s not enough.

You can love others with all the strength you have. You can be magical but not too sappy. You can be enchanting and make everything right.

That’s not what God has called you to.

If you spend your whole life dispensing wise advice and cheery tunes and spoonfuls of sugar to help the medicine go down, no matter how hard you work and how good you appear, in the end you’ll find it’s a hollow imitation of what your life could be.

Yes, love others. But let them love you. Stay when you could move on. Ask for prayer. Admit when you don’t understand. Mourn for something you’ve lost. Accept forgiveness. Most of all, live in confidence as a child of God, not as everyone’s favorite hero who’s practically perfect in every way.

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