It’s important to tell ourselves the truth, but sometimes, we need others to do it for us.
During this time of sabbatical, I have been reminded how desperately reliant I am on God and His truth, and how challenging it can be for me to invite others to carry me in the journey. Years ago, during a time of burnout, God spoke to me about this very need (so you could say I’m something of a slow learner). He led me to write this poem. Consider it an invitation to do this for me (and others) when you see the need arise:
Tell Me
Tell me the truth
about myself
Tell me things that free me
from the worry cage I’ve built
Tell me the upside-down things
that correct the world’s twisted weavings
Tell me there are rocks to rest on
so I can come in from the storm
Tell me things that breathe new life
into this valley of dry bones
Tell me again to draw my sword
to cut through the enemy attacks on my soul
They say there are no easy answers
And I know.
But there is One who answers still.
Tell me what He would say
when I’m weak and lonely and tired.
I have become known among the soccer parents as the Mom Who Febreezes Her Child.
This information slipped during a tournament weekend when another mom lamented that she would have to wash her daughter’s uniform overnight.
I informed her that I would do no such thing – Febreeze to the rescue! Our children know this trick so well that I don’t have to say anything. That night, sure enough, our daughter’s uniform lay neatly on her floor, soaking in a layer of Febreeze.
Giving Ourselves Permission
You could say this is me being lazy, but I say it’s permission to let ourselves off the hook. Life’s too short and there’s so much that’s more important than my child having a clean, fresh smelling uniform she’s only going to re-stink the next day.
I didn’t use to live this way. There was a time I would have cared about how that uniform looked and smelled. If I didn’t wash it, I certainly wouldn’t have admitted to Febreezing it.
But at some point, I realized there’s a great deal of freedom and joy to be found in letting go of appearances and bringing out the dirty laundry, both literally and figuratively. And I don’t know about you, but freedom and joy are so much more appealing than exhaustion and anxiety over what others think.
I’m happy to give this permission to others. Not only does it give them grace, but it reminds me that I am better off living in grace too.
Sure, maybe they’re secretly judging me, but that’s ok. I’m living shame-free over here. Try it – it’s great! Grace is something I need more and more in my own life, and I find great joy in being able to give that grace to others.
We need grace so much, but we don’t speak it out.
I want to be the kind of person who sees where I need grace, where others need grace, and gives it lavishly.
Let’s be the grace givers.
Start with yourself, and see how it spills over. Let’s be known as the ones who give ourselves and others permission to let go of that which is, in the end, not significant, so we can pour our energy and our hearts into what is worth our lives.
Like if you are afraid you might be chased by gators. This was the thinking my friend Laura and I had while walking the Orlando Wetland Park earlier this spring. Our plan constantly evolved according to available assistance (“Ok, so here we’d climb that shelter.” As though we could seriously climb a shelter) and probably would not have helped us at all, but it gave us comfort. (note: do NOT run in a zig zag pattern. That’s a myth, and a pretty silly one).
My husband’s a planner too. This spring he’s had a sign on his desk that says, “In case of emergency, read this.” It’s a list to remind himself why he is leading certain change, the reasons why it’s good. It helps him push through when people are pushing back.
It got me thinking. Emergency plans are good for more than just escaping gators.
I’ve sensed in this sabbatical how quickly my mind can travel to fearful places. Doubts creep in. My faith wavers. I get discouraged and want to give up. I’m ready to climb the shelter (even though I probably can’t climb the shelter). I’m looking for a way to run.
Friends, this is not how I want to live.
So I’ve been mentally making “in case of emergency” lists in my mind:
In case you begin to worry, remember: He loves you. He is wise, He is powerful, He is good. He’s got this.
In case you fail, remember: this is all temporal. Your value hasn’t changed. Just keep being faithful. He’s got you.
In case your kids go to the other side of the world on a mission trip, remember: He loves them more than you do. He is with them. He’s got them.
And on it goes.
We need our go to truthsfor the times when we need to talk ourselves off the ledges, or we are tempted to run from our circumstances. We need them to combat the stories we’re making up in our heads, to lift our eyes off the things of the world and back onto Him.
In case of emergency, remember truth. Hold on to grace. Breathe peace. Soak in His presence.When life takes us into deeper woods, there’s no need to panic. There’s a way out of this wilderness, but it takes a minute to stop and orient ourselves. He knows the way out. Remember what He would say and let that be your guide.
There are people in the world who like to rescue others. There are others who look for someone to rescue them. And there are people like me, who think, “I don’t need rescuing, thank you very much.”
Except I do. I very much do.
I try, though. Oh, how I try.
I try to hold it together. Keep up the appearance of competence. I master self-sufficiency and ignore my needs and emotions for the sake of keeping it going. Deceive myself into thinking that rescuing is for someone else. My energy goes to rescuing the ones who can’t quite manage it on their own, who don’t have their stuff together.
I’m like a soldier on the battlefield who tries valiantly to press on despite repeated arrows, “Tis but a flesh wound.” Asking for help is out of the question.
But underneath this lie that I don’t need rescuing is not strength. It’s fear.
It’s a fear that if I call for help, no one’s coming. The fear is grounded in those lies of too much and not enough. It says there is no one who cares enough to offer their strength, no one stronger willing to step in. I fight for myself because I fear no one will fight for me.
I’m partway through a much-needed sabbatical. In the first days, as my soul slowed down, this is the fear that rose to the surface. It is the source of much of my anxiety and restlessness, my need to control my world. As I have turned it over and over, examining its root, I see it for the lie that it is.
Because there is Someone coming for me. There is One whose strength is always greater, who longs to rescue, who calls me to be the child I am and rest in Him.
When I feel weak, helpless, and incompetent, I can step off the battlefield and just receive; no need to press on, because He can take care of it, can take care of me.
He is calling me to deeper, dependent prayer, as I recognize those moments when I am tempted to take back the weight of the world on my shoulders.
He calls me to the images in scripture of our God who is our strong tower, our rock of refuge, our Savior, letting them speak grace into my tired places. I am so grateful for this fear to come to light, so that God can speak His words of life and truth to replace it.
“Because she loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue her; I will protect her, for she acknowledges my name. She will call upon me, and I will answer her. I will be with her in trouble. I will deliver her and honor her. With long life will I satisfy her and show her my salvation.” – Psalm 91:14-16
