About That Nail

There is a short video on YouTube called, It's Not About the Nail. It's about a woman, who is talking to a man, presumably her boyfriend or husband. She laments the pressure in her head, the throbbing pain, the fact that all her sweaters get snagged. When he tries to point out the nail she has sticking out of her head, she rips into him. "It's not about the nail!" She just wants him to listen, to empathise, to "hear" her. And so he tries to do that. And everyone laughs hysterically when they watch the video.

Can I be honest?

I didn't laugh. I don't really get why it's funny. I'm not really sure if it is making fun of women or making fun of men. It seems to be making fun of something or someone, but I don't get who or what. I understand that it's hyperbole, and that we're not talking about literal nails literally sticking out of people's heads. I understand that this sort of conversation is repeated probably by the minute in relationships all around the world. But I don't get why the video is funny.

In fact, the video makes me kind of mad.

Now, there are occasions when people have a metaphorical nail sticking out of their head, but they don't know the nail is there. As obvious as it is to others, they are unable to see it themselves. They can see the symptoms of the problem, but they cannot identify their source. I understand that. It's called denial, and it's a powerful force. I have fallen under its spell myself, many times, and, indeed, probably am still. We all have blind spots about our own character. I get that.

What I struggle to understand is this: if my symptoms are so severe as to warrant my complaining about them, would I not want to identify their source? Would I not want to solve the problem? I've been in the position of having a nail poking out of my forehead, and I will remain eternally grateful to the people in my life who said to me, "You've got a nail in your head." The prison doors opened that day. There was a problem, and it was solveable. It wasn't an easy solution. It was gut-wrenching. I cried buckets of tears in the weeks, months, and years that followed, as I struggled, by God's grace, and in his strength, to extricate that nail. But there was hope. For the first time, I could imagine a life free of headaches, free of pressure in my head, and free of snagged sweaters. I could see a life free of the problems that kept me from getting close to others. I could see a life beyond the nail.

Likewise, I will remain eternally grateful to those who listened, who heard, who saw me as I struggled to remove the nail. When I cried that it was painful, they cried with me. And reminded me that the nail had to go. When I bled as the nail was extricated, they staunched my wounds. And reminded me that the nail had to go. When I wanted to stop the process and just sit around moaning about snagged sweaters, they called me on my bull-hooey. And told me, without compromise, that the nail had to go. When the last bit of the nail was finally removed, they rejoiced with me. And reminded me that it was all worthwhile, because the nail had to go. There is certainly a place for tenderheartedness, for empathy, for affection and grace and really listening. But the nail has to go.

But this woman seems to want to learn to live with the nail.

I see people, both men and women, behave like that woman way too often. There is a glaring problem, a problem about which they are fully aware, but they do nothing to solve it. Instead, they spend all their time playing the victim, expecting others to "hear" them, to "empathise", to "care". No, no, don't tell me there's a problem. Don't try to fix the problem. In fact, I don't really want to solve the problem at all. I love the problem. I love being a victim. Poor me, I have a nail in my head. But when it is suggested that I could solve my problems by removing the nail, I argue that it's not about the nail. "I don't need you to solve it. I just need you to listen."

Can you imagine trying that with God? God, I feel so sinful. I feel so guilty. I have such shame. I feel so unworthy. I feel so unloved. And God says to us, "That's because you ARE sinful. You ARE guilty. You ARE unworthy. But I love you and I have a solution." And we say to God, "Come on, God, you just always try to FIX things! I don't need you to fix this. I just need you to listen. I just need you to care."

But that's just it. He does care. He cared enough to fix it. He cares enough to yank the nails out of my head.

And allow them to be hammered through the hands and feet of his Son.

Sometimes, it IS about the nail.