Cheers to authenticity

I
received a lot of response from last week’s post. Honestly, it took me by surprise a little, but I was incredibly grateful
for your words, messages, and check-ins. I was questioned more than
once on the reason behind being so brutally honest about such
gut-wrenching pain. Why spill your guts across the screen in black
and white for the whole world to see? In the world of social media, I
usually hate on haters. “It’s raining again. Ugh. Go away.” My
response: “In Kenya rain means survival! Kick your shoes off and go
jump in puddles and thank God for provision – just stay off Atlanta
roads. ;)” “Why does everyone
have to park like a freaking idiot. I swear no one has a brain
anymore.” My response: “A little extra walk is good for your
heart. Breathe the fresh air and skip…you’ll be okay. It’s not your
problem that they can’t park.” I like giving the world the benefit
of the doubt and think social media whining is annoying and a waste
of time. So in this world where we don’t want whiners, but yet we
quietly ache for authenticity—what are we to do?

I
gain satisfaction out of knowing I have been authentic with the
world. I have huge issues with secrecy, manipulation, and lying
behaviors so there is a part of me that feels fake and like a phony
when I allow you interweb people to believe that my life is easy,
black and white, seemingly happy and pain free. As I mentioned last
week, life’s a bitch and she’s partial to no one. We all have our
stuff. I simply enjoy taking my pain, transforming it into something
that is healing and beautiful to me, and sharing it with you—for
whatever that is worth. I am not under the misconception that
everyone’s life is perfect and that you are contained in the small
box that may appear via social media. We’re all human. We all live
the same life of heartbreak, devastation, trauma, and brokenness. I
just get more pleasure our of talking about it than others.

I
am currently writing this not to defend myself, but to more pose a
philosophical question: What was it about the depth of emotion shared
last week that caused such a response? Was it because it was honored,
revered, respected, feared, disgusting, or some other feeling word
I’m not coming up with currently? I shared what I did last week not
to put my friends and family on alert, as many of them already know
of the pain and trauma I am working through. Instead I wrote it to a)
give some relief to my soul that sometimes seems it may implode on
itself due to overwhelming emotion, b) give a voice to myself that I
have not felt I have been given in the recent past and c) to share a
piece of my story. There are many misconceptions about therapists,
pain, depression, heartache, grief, etc. For now, this is my small
gift to those who are hurting as well.

We
don’t speak it because of fear. Fear drives the internal tapes that
say, “No one understands. No one cares. God will take care of you.
Keep your head up, damn it.” Fear has never been our friend though.
Fear deprives us of intimacy and the opportunity of connection with
people who may actually understand and do wholly care.

If
there is one thing that I have learned through this current season is
that Christianese, the band aids we try to put on each other to hide
the gaping wounds…well, they suck.

Onepastor, when reflecting on the ole’ “God won’t give you more than you can handle,” calls bullshit. He writes, “In
other words, when we can’t do it any longer.  When we are fed
up.  When it has become too much.  When we have nothing
left.  When we are empty.  When it is beyond our capability
to deal with it.  Then, in that moment, the strength of the God
of resurrection will be seen.  Until we get to that point, we
rely on ourselves thinking we can handle it and take care of the
problem…in
the midst of pain and hurt, I am actively expecting God to do
something.  I don’t know what.  I don’t know when.  But
I am expecting the God of resurrection to heal us.  I am
expecting God to restore us.  I am expecting him to redeem this
situation.  I am expecting him to do this and so I will be
actively looking and waiting for him to do something.  I
believe expectant waiting can only happen when we exchange our feeble
platitudes for an authentic faith that engages God with the full
brunt of our emotion and pain.  Only
then can salvation been seen.

But
that exchange takes courage.”

I
love this. As a culture and even as a church…we can tend to shy
away from pain. We like the hero story. The redemption story. The bow
tied nicely around the beauty from chaos story. Sometimes, we can be
so quick to praise that we forget to mourn—which there is a time
for, you know.

I
have pondered this same platitude: “Is it true that God really
doesn’t give us more than we can handle?” Like my friend
above…this current season has shown me that it is bullshit. God
absolutely does give us more than we can handle alone in our own
strength. If it wasn’t for God…you wouldn’t be reading any of these
words right now. I’d be gone. Somewhere. Disappeared. Dead or alive—I
wouldn’t be here. But God, who is the perfect Father, the gracious
Forgiver, the mighty Savior, He can handle it. So He does…when we
cry out and allow Him to carry us. God certainly gives us more than
we can handle in our own strength. Yet he’s always there to see us
through.

I
guess, ultimately, I want to create a space where you can come and
feel free to unload your shit. The skeletons in your closet. Bring it
on. This place, this space here…it is free for the dumping of the
hurting. The broken with no voice. The suffering who have been
overlooked. The scared…who don’t know what to do. There is a place
for you here.

My
tag line in my email, my signature, the statement that goes out with
every email I send quotes Brené Brown:

“Owning
our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our
lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not
nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the
experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave
enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of
our light.”

I
read this again for the “first” time the other day and literally
laughed out loud. Right this minute my story is one that I want to
hide from. It brings me shame and judgment. It is not the story I
thought I would have to tell (which I guess I should have seen coming
since one of my very wise friends always says, “we never live the
story we want to tell”). So as I slowly embrace mine and a renewed
level of authenticity—my challenge to you is the same.

Standing
still, embracing vulnerability, risk, our darkness vs. Running,
giving up on love, belonging, and joy

I
can honestly say that, although when I read the above quote the other
day I cried out “Bull SHIT,” I do, ultimately, agree. We must not
give up on believing in one another and the hope of genuine integrity
and authenticity.