I’ve been reborn in Christ. …Dude: I don’t do dope. But when I was dead, we knew the word Buzzkill: anything that takes the edge off your fluff, a downer, something that ruins your good mood; a killjoy.
This dynamic is not exclusive to potheads: nobody likes a killjoy. It’s selfish, but true! You’re minding your own business, basking in the sunshine, or enjoying a country drive. Then BAM! Somebody brings up Monday. Why would they do that! Major buzzkill, Man.
Here’s the twist: I’m going to confess something: I’m a Buzzkill. If there’s an instinct for when to keep things light, my synapse has a malfunction. To me, it’s always the right time to bring up Monday—or the budget, the To-Do list, or the State of the Union. It doesn’t occur to me that such bombshells can deflate a Saturday afternoon. (BTW, don’t misread me: I’m not referring to a specific Pollyanna recipient of a single faux pas.)
This symptom may be a side effect of one of my other maladies: Resilience. As a kid enduring verbal abuse, I learned to practice something (not always easy, but not impossible): My Joy Depends on No One Else’s Behavior. Thus, I can easily forget—how easy it is to be a Buzzkill.
This is where I need to think outside of the box (that box being SELF). It always goes back to God’s perfect design in making us diverse: don’t be terse; put your tongue in reverse. I want to better anticipate others’ responses. (Goodness knows I shouldn’t expect them to be like me; I’m an anomaly!)
That country drive is not an end in itself; it is a means to an end (ice cream, hopefully? hehe). No, that end is 1 Thess. 4:3: For this is the will of God, your sanctification. God’s amazing Creation is a blessing, but also a vehicle and venue for opportunities to engage. As much as I like ice cream, the best destination of that country drive is the place where I’m listening carefully and flowing along graciously. And when we approach a fork in the road, may we follow the path to where iron sharpens iron.