At debrief at the beginning of the month our entire squad was asked to get vulnerable. For two nights, the 50 of us sat and listened as brave soul after brave soul made the walk to the front of the room to share something of vulnerability for them. For some, it was rape, for others, it was pride, and for most, it was shame.
In Brené Brown’s book, Daring Greatly, (WHICH YOU SHOULD TOTALLY READ) she talks about shame alongside the main topic, vulnerability.
“Shame derives its power from being unspeakable.” Shame doesn’t like having words wrapped around it.
So we wrapped words around our shame, suffocating it with vulnerability and empathy.
People have some deep stuff going on, y’all. Deep trenches we are all trying to wade through. And what I learned those two nights is that more often than not, the trench you see someone wading through does not compare to the depth of the trench you cannot see, that maybe even they can’t see.
So I thought vulnerability time was ooveerrr. See ya debrief, I’ve got ministry to do.
The naivety of it almost gets a giggle out of me now.
See, my first week and half of ministry was hard. My soul ached. It ached for comfort, the comfort of home, the comfort of a familiar fall season, the comfort of friends on other teams now spread out across the country, hours from my beck and call.
But I would live that week over and over again if I could have times with Jesus like that every day. There’s something about His healing touch to an aching wound that I will never get over. In a puddle of tears nearly everyday, I fell head over heels for my Bridegroom.
Another week began, and life was good. Ministry was going well, our team loved each other and I couldn’t help but question God on Thursday morning- “Am I missing something? This week has been too easy, what’s hiding?”
NOTE: If you don’t want hard things, maybe start with not asking for them. Cause you know, ask and you shall receive.
The morning ensued with an avalanche of past wounds I thought had healed. Wounds that had made me skittish towards biblical conflict, afraid of being made the fool for not knowing how to explain something biblical. Wounds that created a deep need to defend myself against other Christians for fear of that someone might find me lacking, find a soft spot, and attack.
By the early afternoon I was again in that familiar sea of tears while Skyping my mentor- she had walked with me when those wounds were first being inflicted.
About half way through our conversation (after my realization that I was fearful of looking stupid in voicing something the Lord had put in me but not yet fully explained), the hammer hit. And it hit hard.
“Hannah, are you finding false identity in your leadership?”
And you guessed it: the tears started flowing. Yes, yes, yes. Yes, I’m finding a false identity in being a Team Leader. Yes, I’m finding a false identity in my leadership gifting. Yes, I’m finding an identity in a lot of things other than Christ.
And how was I doing that, you might ask?
By seeking, by needing, the approval of those above me.
By performing certain humble actions partially to impress, to manipulate.
Ugh. Manipulate. It sounds really ugly when you say it…or type it. But I mean, that’s what I was doing.
And not always, but sometimes my very motive for doing something productive or good for the team was because I wanted to keep my position.
Because I have learned to find my worth in whether or not I’m climbing up the ladder of success, on whether I have been given authority or not, on whether I’m looked up to as important or not.
Somewhere along the lines I learned that my position made me worthy.
And that right there is my biggest shame.
And believe me, I had no intentions of admitting it- even to myself. I didn’t even realize it fully until someone else called it out in me, because the shame kept me from ever allowing it all to surface.
How would people see me? Would they accept my vulnerability with empathy and grace, or would they call for a public hanging?
Would anyone ever trust my intentions and motives again?
A couple of things happened when I took all this into the presence of the Lord.
The first was a heart wrenching realization that I had to lay my Isaac down. I had to lay down my need for approval, my tendency to people-please, my motives for selfish gain.
And that probably won’t be the last time I lay those things down. It’s a dang good thing Jesus cares about the process just as much as he cares about the finish.
The second was that I needed to come out of hiding with it to seven specific people. The first was one of my squad leaders. The next 5 were my team. The seventh was my squad mentor, who I so conveniently already had a phone call planned with for the next morning.
To put words around the shame. To suffocate shame with vulnerability and honesty.
It sounds courageous in the aftermath, but I felt like a dog with her tail between her legs. To admit the ugly, shameful truth to the very people it was affecting- those were some hard conversations, y’all. But you’ll never believe what I met in the midst of each one. Empathy. Grace. Encouragement. Love.
I know! Who saw that coming?! It’s like I’m surrounded by incredible, God-fearing people or something.
And now comes the part where I’m supposed to have the happy ending. The this-is-how-I-figured-it-all-out finale.
But, I don’t really have that. I don’t have all the answers; I don’t really know exactly where to go from here. I know to keep walking, to keep seeking. I know to lay everything at God’s feet. I know I have to let Him defend me, and not try to take things up in my own strength.
I know that a weak love is not a false love. He sees my love for Him as genuine, even though in that moment it felt pretty dang weak.
I know that with His love He is driving out the shame of my motives, the shame of my deception. I know that even in my poor outward performance, God looks at the movements of my heart and loves me for the Willing Spirit that He has cultivated in me.
I know that my heart is dark, but I also know that I am ravishingly beautiful before my King.
So I guess this ending is kind of a beginning. The beginnings of the process, the journey, the road less traveled.
You know the old saying.
The first step is admitting it.
