This week I attended a church (International Church Assembly, ICA) in Phnom Penh, Cambodia with my friends Bridget and Eleina. One of the pastors gave an incredible sermon titled, “The Betrayals of David.” I loved the sermon, but what really stuck with me emerged as a small sound bite from her prayer after her sermon—“Thank you God for letting us know Bible Characters in the full, ugly truth.”
Since Bible Characters give us examples on how to be Godly leaders, it means a top quality of being a leader is being open and honest about the full, ugly parts of your story. It made me think about what a disappointing book the Bible would be if the American church wrote the Bible today. The story of David would be, “He was a man after God’s own heart because he never did any wrong, was a wonderful father, never cheated on his wife and sang praises to God. Therefore, go and do the same, and don’t let anyone know if you mess up.” NO! My heart ACHES for the psalms would be absent! David was an absolute WRECK of a man, a horrible father, an adulterer and a murderer, and yet he sang praises to God out of that place of absolute wreckage. David gives an example of crying out to God amidst the pain and consequences of sin!
Putting on a perfect appearance “for the sake of others” is a lie from the devil. Your “perfect” example does not influence others to be perfect. Relying on God because we are imperfect shows true humility. Crying out to God amidst our imperfection shows a better example for the sake of others. Faking perfection merely glorifies your own skin, which is both prideful and blasphemy. Additionally, if we are so focused on being more perfect than others, we forget the verse Matthew 19:30, “But many who are first will be last; and the last, first.” So your fake imperfection means absolutely nothing to God, who sees your heart.
If you want to be a TRUE Godly leader in your church, let everyone know about all the messy parts of your life, yet still cry out to God in dependence. That’s humility. That’s real leadership.
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I wrote this, and then a few nights later, God made sure I stayed true to my word. My teammates and I did an exercise together that caused all my ugliness to emerge. We wrote our names atop a piece of paper, and then on one side of the paper wrote, “admires” and on the other side, “challenges.” We spent time writing on each other’s papers, telling what we admired about that person, and where we saw a need for improvement. When we finished, we shared with each other a kind admiration and a theme of the “challenge” side.
The “challenges” side triggered an old wound in me to awaken, and I reeled in pain—inwardly. I internally battled whether or not I should even share my hurt, because I shouldn’t be hurt; I should be thankful for their help. Lie after lie kept blocking my view of the truth: “swallow your pain,” “don’t be too emotional,” “you can handle this alone,” “you’ll hurt them back if you tell them,” “you’re being selfish cool down,” etc.
I waited until the end to share because of my internal battle. I decided to tell them how hurt I was, but didn’t know why. They asked if they could press in, and I said they could. I didn’t believe any nice thing they could say about me, because how my mind computed some of the “challenges” was: No one actually likes you and will leave you as soon as they get the chance.
I started slouching more and more as my teammates spoke, and longed to stop feeling like a selfish, overly-emotional brat.
My teammate Allison noticed my posture and asked me, “How are you feeling now?”
I had a choice to lie to make it stop and say, “Much better, thanks.” However, I said, “Honestly? I feel really selfish for bringing it up at all.”
“No,” Allison began, “you are not selfish. If anything this made me love you even more.”
She continued talking about how she doesn’t want me to be perfect and so did others, but I sat up after that one phrase.
She loves me more? What?
Later I realized the root, and grew a lot from that vulnerable moment. I can’t help think back and wonder if I had just ignored that imperfection from my team. I would miss out on the healing God wanted to take me through. My teammates would’ve missed an opportunity to love me. Bitterness would’ve grown in me. I’m sure there are other effects, but those are the ones I can see right now.
I wish I could yell through this screen to you and beg you to see the benefits of vulnerability, to beg you to not hide your imperfection from others. It’s as beneficial as putting a bandage on ringworm. “What the heck does that do?” You may be thinking. Well in Malaysia, I got ringworm on my leg and tried putting a bandage on it in order for it to not spread anywhere else. Since ringworm is a fungus, it grows in dark, wet places, which happens with bandages; thus it got worse and started spreading out. What healed it was letting it dry out, exposing it.
“Ok, why are you talking about ringworm, Sarah?” I’m trying to tell you to stop covering up your infections, because it will just grow worse beneath your mask—expose it and let it air out. Only then will you allow healing to take place.
