Sometimes I practice what I preach...often I don't......
Two weeks ago I gathered with the youth of the Diocese of Kentucky. We explored what it meant to be created in the image of God, and possibly even more importantly, we explored and tried to own that despite our flaws we are indeed created in God's image and that we are God's beloved with whom God is well pleased. (Luke 3:22)
It truly broke my heart listening to these young people deny there was anything redeemable about themselves. So many of them carry such deep regret and shame--and they have yet to even carry a driver's license. Some of the shame is about things done to them or around them, but very often it is about things they have done--things they believe are not redeemable. The range of "severity" of these memories is broad--the feelings are the same.
Brene Brown defines shame as, "the most powerful, master emotion. It’s the fear that we’re not good enough." I was surrounded by youth who carry that fear like a second skin. We had much dialogue. We walked through prayer stations; and we loved. I believe many left with their burdens a little lighter. While my heart was still broken, I also felt some relief; I had some hope they had shed some of the shame and would be moving on.
And then today happened.....
I was texting with a colleague--it was both lighthearted and deep. I was affirmed in my ministry, and I felt good. Dare I even say I felt a little proud? And then I did something, something so minor, but my colleague "called" me on it. Even though I was alone in my house, my face heated up flushed with shame and tears sprang into my eyes. I immediately apologized and was told the apology wasn't necessary. The other truth is the word "called" is too strong for what really happened but it's the word my emotions felt.
Suddenly other experiences came flooding back as they always do when shame envelopes me--the time in fourth grade when I went to dinner with my best friend's family. I loved this family and they loved me. I called them Mama Lynne and Daddy Jim--they were kind and loving. We were at a steak house; a steak house you can see right off 285 just beyond the Ashford Dunwoody exit (wonder if it's still there). I was wearing a striped sweater and bell bottom jeans. My friend had two barrettes on each side of her middle part. The details are as vivid today as though they happened this morning. We ordered and decided to split a plate (steak and shrimp). My friend's father said, "I think it will be plenty for you both." I looked up and said, "And if it's not, we'll just order something else." My friend's mother said, "No, we can get something else at home."
She did not speak unkindly; she smiled as she was saying it and her eyes had the same twinkle they always did, but I was humiliated. It took all my will power not to burst into tears. I was suddenly sure they thought I was ungrateful, impolite, and I knew without a doubt I would never be included again. (note--I later went on numerous beach and ski trips with them--proof that facts don't erase memories....)
Fast forward 16 years...I was at my cousin's bridesmaid luncheon. We were seated at a long table; I was nervous. I was the youngest and I absolutely adore and idolize both my sister and my cousin. I was laughing, and probably trying to get attention. My sister looked at me and quietly said, "Shh; you're being too loud." I can tell you she said it quietly and discreetly, but I went to the bathroom and sobbed. In my mind she had broadcasted to the world, "You are loud and obnoxious and I'm embarrassed to know you."
There are several other incidents that play a part in this movie of shame in my head. It's a movie I get to watch over and over--sometimes it goes years (well not really) but perhaps months between viewings, but then something happens and I'm back sitting alone in the theater of my mind with no popcorn--a movie that wants to convince me I'm not enough.
I am fairly well adjusted; I have worked through (and continue to work through) my insecurities with the help of a therapist and spiritual director. I can talk myself down from the panic that threatens to paralyze me within seconds, but it still exists and I still have to live with it.
Brown also says, "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." and "If we can share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can’t survive."
I believe our stories when shared become part of the larger story--the story of God and God's infinite love for us despite our insecurities and regrets. I believe my story has become part of Peter's story who must have felt deep shame and regret after denying Christ and yet he is the rock upon which the church has been built. (Matthew 16:18)
It is the beginning of Holy Week. As I walk this journey this week, I pledge to share every story that bubbles up bringing with it shame with someone else, and I pledge to be available to hear others' stories. On Friday I am going to leave them at the foot of the cross, and I invite everyone to do the same. It may be we have to leave them again next year and the next and the next. But I believe we all are truly God's beloved and with us God is well pleased.
Walk with me....
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