When I had dinner with Pete Gall (and Grissom) last week, it was incredibly refreshing. Much like the double soy iced latte I’m nursing while writing this. Gall is a very unimposing guy, though I get the sense that he’s pretty wicked-smart. Our conversation bounced along from his questions about my seminary experience (I tried it. Twice. But it didn’t take…) to my interrogating him how he came into the same circle of trust I share with Grissom (a long story that includes common struggles, failures, and ultimately…grace.) Early into the bounty of Rudy’s brisket, I asked, ‘So…what’s your story?’

 “Well, it started with wanting to be known as ‘a tremendous man of God’.” He smirked in a Tyler Durden sort of way.

“How’s that workin’ out for you?” I asked.

He smiled and swigged down the last of his Corona. He then began to tell me his story. Previous big shot advertising exec. Fortune 50 companies hailing him as the Golden Child. His bravado struggling with being the ‘fat guy’ to the other guys, the ‘good friend’ to any romantic interest, and the Imposter to a God who calls us to authenticity. And church seemed to make it worse, not better.

The collector crab (or decorator crab) attaches to it’s shell bits and pieces of what it finds on the sea floor. The idea is to protect itself by becoming invisible to its natural enemy, the squid. It scurries along unnoticed, hidden by the debris it’s become attached to.

I do the same thing. My guess is that you do, too. And sometimes the camouflage we choose makes us easier to spot. Problem is that we can’t ever really be sure about the stuff we grab and attach to our shells; all we can do is grab what looks good to us and hope for the best.

In My Beautiful Idol, Gall begins his story with advertising spectacles: in a society that tries to sell people, all of whom are bearers of the likeness of God, baubles to attach to their personal shells. Labels. Products. Services. Impressions. Approaches. Tones. Movements. Causes. Whatever we collect to build our own ‘personal brand’. 

It’s how we hide from the squids that show up in the form of shame. Guilt. Failure. Evil. Or a host of other things we work furiously to avoid. From fig leaves to 401(k)s, we’re all about covering our nakedness. And as long as we don’t get eaten, it’s a good day.

But under it all, we’re looking for a way out of the camouflage, because in the end, it not only hides us, but traps us as well.

But here’s my own vulnerability: I’d love to learn how to live in a way that doesn’t require camouflage. I think it’s something we all long for. To be naked and vulnerable, yet still adequate and loved. At the heart of the Ragamuffin, I’m learning to let go of the camouflague. Sometimes I can even pull it off.

Sometimes.