identity Archives - Gina Brenna Butz

The Blessing of a Weathered Soul

Post author:Gina B
Post published:June 4, 2020
Post category:growth identity trials

We have a weathered wooden board in our bathroom that we repurposed as a towel rack. It is deeply weathered from wind, rain, and probably sand (I don’t remember where I found it). There are layers of paint or maybe stain that have worn off to varying degrees. It has cracks in it. There’s discoloration on the edges I can’t identify.

I love that board.

Who knows what hands it has passed through or how it came to look the way it does. I love it because when I look at it, it tells me a story.

It’s beautiful. And you could never, ever, make another one exactly like it.

Our souls are that board.

Beautiful, unique, telling a story unlike any other. Meant to be a blessing just the way we are. Worn and useful for the Maker’s hands.

But gosh the world tells us we should be anything but, doesn’t it? It pushes us to be bigger and better, to go higher and faster. It says, “Be put together, spiritually sound, never struggle, do it right.” This country was founded on a pursuit of happiness that leaves no space for suffering or failure. It’s a game of “avoid the heartache and you win.”

You don’t get beautiful that way.

The Blessing of a Weathered Soul

The apostle Paul knew that. He wrote, “Not only so but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”

I think of our kids. When they encounter challenges, I want to rescue them. Instead, I try to remember that this weathering is necessary for their souls. He’s doing something beautiful in them through it.

I think of the painful seasons God has brought me through. I hold the lessons I learned from them like treasures. They are the marks on my soul that bear witness to His work, His faithfulness, and His goodness, shaping me into my true self.

I think of our world right now, and what we’re going through. And yes, it’s awful and I wish it weren’t true, but I know that once we’re through this, there will be good that comes. As we weather the storms, God doesn’t stand far away. He is right here, next to us, in the middle of it all. He has compassion on us, but He knows how it shapes us too.

We aren’t called to an unscathed life. So we patiently endure. We trust that nothing is wasted. He uses everything to beautify us, to reclaim us as His. May we surrender to the process of weathering.

Speaking Truth to Ourselves

Post author:Gina B
Post published:March 19, 2020
Post category:identity truth

“Have you realized that most of your unhappiness in life is due to the fact that you are listening to yourself instead of talking to yourself?” (Martyn Lloyd Jones, Spiritual Depression).

When our kids were little, I taught them that their thoughts were something they could actually control. We talked about how our minds are like airports, and there are always airplanes requesting to land, thoughts settling down. Some of those thoughts are good, but many aren’t. Some are enemy airplanes. And we can tell them they do not have permission to land.

Easier said than done.

We too often passively listen to those voices. We let them land and then we let them take root. They are voices from the past, voices that have been around so long we no longer question their truth or origin. It’s the voice of the enemy, hurling accusations at us. It’s the voice of fear or discouragement or pride sneaking in.

In moving through some hard experiences in the last year, I have become aware of the negative thoughts I listen to. I learned a helpful practice from Adam Young, on his podcast, The Place We Find Ourselves. In a fantastic series on spiritual warfare, he notes that we need to pay attention to the voice of the enemy. We need to recognize the accusations he brings against us.

Our enemy knows us well-knows what lies about ourselves and others we will swallow without question, what most easily knocks us down at the knees. Adam said that we should write those thoughts down and note: the enemy isn’t very creative. His lies tend to center around themes. For me: that it’s all up to me to keep things together. If I fail, people will be disappointed and leave (hey, no pressure).

Speak the Truth

While I can name those accusations, and am becoming aware of when I hear them, it’s not enough to just hope they’ll stop. Or to hope that maybe some good thoughts, some positive truth will come flying by to take their place.

No, what I’m learning I need to do is to be the one who talks back to the accusations. But we need to speak truth to ourselves, rather than passively listening to voices that we were never meant to hear. When we do, we are agreeing with God about who we are instead of the enemy.

One of the phrases that has stood out to me recently in scripture is “thus says the Lord.” There’s something so definitive about that, isn’t there? God said it, so that’s that. And what He says about us is so good.

Take Isaiah 43 for example, “Thus says the Lord . . . do not fear, I have redeemed you, I have summoned you by name, you are mine, I am with you, you are precious, I love you.” Those are the kind of thoughts I want to plant myself in. That’s where I make my home.

So while I know in my head what is true, lately I’ve started saying things like this out loud, and often. I tell myself the truth of Isaiah 43, and anything else that defeats the enemy’s accusations. I speak the gentleness and kindness I would speak to a friend going through what I’m encountering. God says this about me, therefore I will say it too.

Particularly in this anxious time, we have to be conscious of the thoughts we are permitting to land in our minds. Are they true? Is it what God says to us? If not, we can refuse them a place to land and instead tell ourselves what we most need to hear.

Vulnerability on Display

Post author:Gina B
Post published:December 5, 2019
Post category:courage identity

A common response I get after a public speaking engagement is, “I so appreciate your vulnerability when you speak.”

I don’t want to contradict them at the moment, so I don’t, but the truth is, I’m generally not vulnerable when I speak.

I’m transparent.

There’s a big difference.

For a long time, I thought I was being vulnerable by sharing personal stories, particularly stories of things I’ve struggled with, in front of others.

But I generally share in the past tense. Like, “here’s something I used to struggle with” or “let me tell you about a time I failed and how God used it.”

That’s not vulnerability. It’s transparency.

Vulnerability vs Transparency

Here’s the difference:

As my friend Iris puts it well, transparency is putting your junk in a window on display for others to see. Yes, it might be awkward, but you get to choose what they see and what they don’t.

You can choose that which has healed over, or is healing over. You can choose that which no longer evokes shame (if it ever did). What others see is completely within your control.

Vulnerability is inviting people into the back room to see what’s still tender. Back there lie the things that do trigger shame. The wounds that are still open. That which you may fear bringing into the light. Sometimes things you don’t even realize are there.

Transparency is letting people see the scars. Vulnerability is letting people close enough that they might touch the wounds. Share on X

Being transparent is good-we need people to see how we are growing, how we have grown. It invites them to do the same. When God brings us through something difficult and we share it with others, it ministers to them.

Not everyone has earned the right to come into the back room to see what is deepest in us. We aren’t meant to show all that to the world. So no, I’m not particularly vulnerable when I speak, by intention. Vulnerability is meant for safe spaces and safe people.

Choosing Vulnerability and Transparency

But that doesn’t mean we get a pass on sharing vulnerably with others. We’re all called to go beyond transparency with some people, or at least someone. We need God’s wisdom and guidance (and a good bit of courage) to know who our safe people are. And when we figure out who they are, we need to bravely invite them into those back room places.

Chances are, some of the stories that we are transparent about now were once things that felt very vulnerable. Because we shared them with safe people first, they can be brought to a place where we share them with others. Healing has happened. The more we choose vulnerability, the more we are able to be transparent about the wounds that have healed.

There’s a place for transparency. And there’s a place for vulnerability. Not everyone has earned the right to see all of us, but everyone needs to see some of it.

Owning Our Dignity

Post author:Gina B
Post published:November 7, 2019
Post category:identity

Speaking with my friend and spiritual director, Judy, I mentioned that I sometimes downplay my competency in front of others. My fear is that if people see me living at my full and generally high capacity, they’ll think I’m, well, a little “extra.”

“Gina, your competency is a gift. Your 3ness is a gift.”

For those of you wondering why she called me a number, she was referring to the fact that I identify as an Enneagram type 3, otherwise known as The Performer or The Achiever.

(Side note: If you want to be my instant friend, talk to me about the Enneagram. Unless, of course, you start with something like, “I think the Enneagram is a crock!” in which case I will probably always side-eye you).

In my desire to be self-aware (in which the Enneagram has been incredibly helpful) I have been more conscious of the negative side of being wired the way I am than the positive. I recognize my inclination toward image management, competitiveness, and workaholism. I’ve become conscious of when I’m “turning it on” to impress others.

Whenever we engage in a journey of self-awareness and begin to see the darker side of our strengths, it can be discouraging. It’s sobering to see how we fail to love and live well. It often leads to contempt and disappointment with ourselves.

But what Judy said to me jolted me back to the reality that we are much more than our depravity. We also carry dignity. God has given us strengths that bring Him glory when we use them.

We are meant to live that to the fullest.

Owning Our Dignity

So there’s a capacity in me, in my competency, that is a gift from God. On my own, I may use that capacity to cultivate a successful image for my own glory. But when I allow Him to fill me and use me, that capacity can accomplish a lot for His kingdom. Holding back on that is holding back on what He made me for.

The same goes for each of us. There’s something in each of us that is God-given and good. When refined by His Spirit, it is a gift to the world.

You don’t need to know your number on the Enneagram to know that you are created in His image. And you don’t need to identify some type to recognize the gifts He has given you. On your own, yes, you might use them for your own purposes. But how might He take them and use them for good?

As kids, we sang, “This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.” Part of that light is the imago dei we bear. It’s His Spirit living in us as He promised. Our gifts and strengths shine a light, pointing the way to God.

So let’s own our dignity as well as our depravity. The latter leads us to repentance and redemption. The former glorifies God.

Related posts:

Redefining Success

Leaving Our Kingdoms Behind

Why I Love the Enneagram

Are You Childlike?

Post author:Gina B
Post published:July 25, 2019
Post category:dependence on God identity

I am not, by nature, childlike.

Responsible. Trustworthy. Mature. Those were the words more often spoken over me as a child. Even as a child, I was not very childlike.

“Childlike” used to equate with “childish,” in my mind. In other words, foolish, flighty, immature. Aren’t we supposed to grow up and be done with childish things?

Childish, yes. But childlike, never.

What Are Children Like?

Lately, I’ve taken to volunteering in the nursery through pre-school rooms at church. Aside from the occasional hilarious soundbite (one kid, when I commented on his excellent coloring skills, replied, “Thanks. I’ve been coloring for about a year now”), they help me remember what children are like.

Kids are full of wonder. Delight. Joy. Boundless energy. Everything is new and therefore interesting. They are poor in spirit, dependent, needy. And those needs pour out freely, sometimes overwhelmingly. They cry and laugh without editing. Certainly, they trust.

But maybe most baffling to me is how time slows with children. And how one simple act-swinging in a swing or throwing a ball-they can repeat again and again. It reminds me of this quote from Chesterton:

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.

“But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon.

“It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”
– G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

So what does it look like for us, as adults, to be childlike?

What It’s Like to Be Childlike

Maybe it starts with wonder. May God give us eyes to see the glory all around us-the blessings He gives us in every small moment. That kind of wonder leads to grateful hearts who recognize the goodness of our Father.

To be childlike is to be poor in spirit, accepting of our poverty, and willing to live from it. That is to say, we are honest about and unashamed of our weakness and need. That leads us to live each moment in dependence on God and others.

Children know they don’t have it all together. They know they’re still learning. That knowledge doesn’t lead to condemnation but to openness. To be childlike, we live teachable. No matter how far we’ve come, we believe there’s more to learn, and are open to how we might learn it.

And woven through all that there is grace. Because kids don’t beat themselves up for their humble position, and neither should we. Instead, may it leads us to trust others to carry us when we reach the end of ourselves. And may kindness and compassion mark how we respond to our souls.

The Childlikeness of God

Being childlike is, in some way, to be like our Father, because He too is full of wonder, delight, joy. His creation invites us to play and discover. Jesus humbled himself in the greatest way in order for us to have life. He chose poverty for our sakes. Moreover, He lived grace, kindness, and compassion. Growing old in our souls moves us away from His heart.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

The kingdom belongs to those who embrace their position as children before God. Those who humbly acknowledge their need and let it lead them to trust and dependence. Those who live loved by the Father. At His feet may we be filled with wonder and awe.

Leaving Our Kingdoms Behind

Post author:Gina B
Post published:April 11, 2019
Post category:faith growth identity

I heard once that Jesus talks about the kingdom of God more than anything else. More than love, or the resurrection, or peace. Why?

Recently, my mind has been fixed on the kingdom. Or rather, my kingdom vs The Kingdom.

I know that there exists a kingdom of my own making. You have one too. It’s in our nature, to build a world for ourselves, to find what Buechner calls, “our place in the sun.”

I also know that we need to leave our kingdoms behind.

I’ve been in a slow process of doing so for many years. God started it. He always does. We aren’t meant to live in our own self-made domains. He loves us too much to let us live there.

But what do I mean by this kingdom creating? I mean the systems we create to provide for ourselves, to protect us from pain, to find love and belonging.

Our kingdoms have rules and values, ways of operating. And unfortunately, they usually run counter to the uppercase Kingdom.

That’s where we get in trouble.

The Trouble With Our Kingdoms

See, in Gina’s kingdom, I take care of myself. I do a pretty good job of taking care of others too. I perform to, or even exceed, the expectations of others. My reward is admiration and recognition, which kind of feels like love.

If you bump up against my kingdom, you might feel the pressure to live up to those expectations too. If I’m too wrapped up in my world, it might be hard for me to notice if you’re doing ok-after all, I don’t expect others to pay attention to my emotional well-being either.

But in God’s Kingdom, there’s no taking care of self, because it is prideful. There, perfect love drives out the fear that He won’t show up for me. In His way of living, there is no striving, only resting, when it comes to finding worth. There aren’t expectations on performance, just a hope that we will live gladly and purposefully in light of His love.

The troubles we encounter in life often center around the places where we expect others, including God, to live by our kingdom rules.

If the banner of my little self-made land is performance, but your world is focused on everyone being positive and having fun, and someone else’s dominion is ruled by order and perfection, and on and on, well, you can see where we might all have trouble living in peace with one another. Because deep down, we all think our dominion is the right one and the best one.

After a while, they aren’t kingdoms anymore: they’re prisons.

And our kingdoms need to crumble.

Letting Our Kingdoms Crumble

Jesus talked about the Kingdom so much because He knew we would try to make our own, and they would be lousy places to live.

He knew we would resist living in that true place He offers, so He wanted to give us a solid picture of His vs ours. He won’t stop until we live there.

The good news is that we are citizens of a new Kingdom.

We have a choice. I believe it’s the choice Jesus was talking about when he said to take up our crosses daily and follow Him. Each day, we choose to walk away from our kingdoms, the rules and expectations we impose on ourselves and others, and to walk in a new way.

We stop believing God should act according to our kingdom rules and we surrender to the life-giving freedom of His.

To do so requires humility. It requires a willingness to believe that maybe our best efforts are simply that-our efforts-and maybe there’s another way to live. For our worlds to fall away, we have to surrender.

When we seek His kingdom first, He tells us that everything else falls into place. We can live in peace with our neighbors, because we’re all actually in the same dominion now, not warring against one another.

So we ask God, “Where am I still trying to make this kingdom work for me? Where am I not living by your way but my own?” And then we raise the white flag.

The good news, God is patient, and He is relentless. The Kingdom He has built for us is always there, waiting for us to lay down our defenses and rest in Him.

Do You Know Your Real Name?

Post author:Gina B
Post published:August 30, 2018
Post category:identity loved

There is power in the names we’re given.

I’m told my parents originally planned to name me Cindy Joy. Then I showed up nearly a month late. They took one look at their overripe, bald baby girl, and thought, “Nope. Not a Cindy Joy. Let’s call her Gina Marie.” So here I am.

Names give definition, identity. They remind us who we are and whose we are. Yet there are moments in our stories, places author Dan Allender calls, “shalom shattered”- times when we lose our identities because of sin, lies, pain.

In those moments, we are renamed.

Sometimes, it’s other people who name us. Unwanted. Rejected. Outsider. Betrayed.

Sometimes, we name ourselves. Unknown. Powerless. Not enough. Lost.

We carry those names into every story in our lives.

They become the ways we define ourselves. When shalom shatters again, those names echo in our hearts, reinforcing the idea that those names really are us.

But the truth is, they aren’t. We have new names.

When we lived in Singapore, I was in a small group at church about listening prayer. One of the exercises we did in that group was to ask God how He sees us.

It was, to be honest, a weird exercise, but I am a good student who does her homework, so I asked Him, “How do you see me?”

The response I heard was, “Precious Lamb.”

Full disclosure? I was not thrilled initially, because what instantly came to mind was Precious Moments figurines, which are not my favorite thing that Christians have ever put out there. They rank up there with Testamints and Bibleman for me as far as the cheese factor goes. (the irony? I had one Precious Moments figurine growing up. It was a lamb. I can’t get away from this).

So given my reaction, I know this thought could not have originated from me. The more I sat with it, the more I realized this is how God sees me, and how I need to see myself.

To bring this truth home, soon after that time my brother sculpted this figure for me:

(The crazy part? I hadn’t shared this name with him. He just felt inspired to make it for me).

God knows our names.

In scripture, we see God literally shift the course of someone’s life by changing their names. Abram to Abraham. Jacob to Israel. Sarai to Sarah. Simon to Peter. Saul to Paul.

God calls us by name. He calls us Precious Lamb, Beloved Child, Chosen, Redeemed, Wanted, Known, Seen. He strips away those shattered places and heals them with the truth of who we really are.

For every broken place in our stories, where we claimed a label that says we are something less, God wants to rename us.

The names He gives us redeem, shift the course of our lives, alter how we see ourselves, and therefore how we relate to Him and others.

But to do that, we have to stake a claim to those new names again and again. Each day, we must choose to call ourselves by our new names, the names He gives us. We repeat them until they ring true.

When the old names echo and call us away from home, we tell ourselves who we really are. If others try to call us by those names, we shake our heads and turn back to our true selves. It is not easy, but it is possible.

Do you know your name? Of all the names we gather along the way, the only ones that matter are the ones He gives us. Call yourself by those names today.

Question the Messages

Post author:Gina B
Post published:April 12, 2018
Post category:expectations identity truth

Years ago, a hair stylist told me that I should always have bangs, and short, blond hair. And I believed her.

For years, I obeyed those rules. Whenever the crazy idea entered my head that I stray from them, her authoritative, expert voice rang in my ears, cowing me into submission.

I currently have long, brown hair, no bangs. And I like it.

Which makes me think, “What else have I taken as truth, and let guide my life, that isn’t necessarily true?”

Granted, a hairstyle isn’t life-altering. But let’s dig deeper.

What about my 15-year-old self, staring at that friendship break-up note that said I wasn’t worth being friends with anymore?

Or my college self, feeling the sting of a friend’s accusation, “You don’t care enough about relationships,” (oh yeah? tell that to 15-year-old me).

Messages about friendship. Our bodies. Our value. What we can do. What we can’t. How far we can go.

Not enough. Better to be safe than sorry. Be amazing. You don’t fit in. Be indispensable so others love you. Don’t rock the boat.

Along the way, we get marked with messages.

Those messages shape us. They shape how we see ourselves, how we present and protect ourselves. They tell us who we should be, or who we can’t be. But those messages don’t have to define us. They simply may not be true.

So we have to question them. Consider the source. Did they come from someone who was for you? Do they keep you from living freely? Do they stem from patterns over time, or from someone’s observation in a moment? Because friends, we are not moments.

When we learn to question the messages people give us, we can overcome them. Take a lesson from these fine people:

Modeling agencies told Marilyn Monroe she’d be better off as a secretary.

Rudyard Kipling was told he didn’t know how to use the English language.

Thomas Edison’s teachers said he was, “Too stupid to learn anything.”

Walt Disney got fired because he, “lacked imagination and had no good ideas.” (that one makes me laugh out loud).

Imagine how different those lives would have been if they had carried those messages as truth. Friends, we wouldn’t have Disney World. Or light bulbs. Let that sink in.

So what messages are you letting shape your life?

Question them.

And then walk in the truth.

The Illusion of Having It All Together

Post author:Gina B
Post published:November 15, 2017
Post category:dependence on God faith identity trials

Early in our time overseas, I thought I had it all together. I was busy balancing raising two preschoolers, learning a second language, living overseas, and having a personal ministry, with joy. I looked like Super Mom, but it was an illusion. Then God, in His mercy, shattered it.

In the fall of 2004, we moved to Singapore. Both our kids stopped napping at the same time. I no longer had household help. The first time my husband traveled that fall, he returned to a house that looked like a tornado hit it.

“What did you do while I was gone?” he asked me.

“How about we decide right now that’s a question you don’t get to ask me,” I responded (not one of our finest marriage interactions).

I was never Super Mom; I was just an over-functioning, bone-weary mom (with a maid). Then I started homeschooling (Jesus, take the wheel). Soon after that, allergies took over my life, forcing me to spend most days in an itchy, sneezing fog. I couldn’t keep it together any more. Gina came undone.

What a blessing.

God led me to feel my desperate need for Him. I was confronted daily by my own inadequacy, lostness, pride, and self-sufficiency (God is so not impressed with that quality, unfortunately).

It was one of the hardest and most frustrating seasons of my life. Many times I sided with Rich Mullins when he sang, “I can’t see where you’re leading me, unless you’ve led me here, to where I’m lost enough to let myself be led.”

The illusion of having it all together was just that-an illusion.

But as my illusion fell away, to my surprise, others drew closer. They met me in my need. When I showed them my lack of togetherness, they were gracious. They gave me a new place to rest, and even (dare I hope?) seemed to love me more.

As my friend Holly Sheldon once said, “People don’t draw close to strength. They admire it, respect it, but don’t draw near to it.“

[ictt-tweet-inline]Having it all together may impress, but it doesn’t invite.[/ictt-tweet-inline] And we need to extend an invitation to others, an invitation in to what is true about us: we are messy, weak, needy humans. Not super human. Just human, like everyone else.

And when we extend the invitation to others to see that we are, in fact, undone, we give others the freedom to be undone as well. We can all step out from behind the curtain and own what is true. Together sigh a breath of relief that we can set the illusion aside.

Letting go of our illusion invites God in too. There, He can sort out our messy places. Be strength in our weakness. Fill our needs. Help us be human.

None of us really has it together. Oh, we can try to keep up that illusion. But why? There is freedom, love, and rest on the other side. Let yourself come undone.

Are You an Extrovert or Introvert? Or Maybe That’s the Wrong Question

Post author:Gina B
Post published:September 21, 2017
Post category:identity

Are You an Introvert or an Extravert? — Photo by Mike Wilson on Unsplash

My 2nd-grade report card tells me I was a friendly, socially active child, but it contains one criticism, “Gina needs to learn to not talk to peers during quiet times.” I was, in the beginning, an extrovert.

And so I believed for many years. After all, I am a verbal processor. I love talking. Public speaking is my jam. The bigger the crowd, the better. In groups, I easily jump in with stories. I’ve always left parties feeling energized.

Or so I thought. After a while, I wondered if what I was feeling wasn’t energized, but “unsettled.” Mixed in with that energy, often, was insecurity. What did people think of me? Did what I share make them like me more? At times I feel compelled to join in social interaction. The FOMO is strong.

God brought me through a season when I recognized the dark side of this drive to belong. The expectations and opinions of others held me captive. As I experienced deeper peace and rest in my identity in Him, I felt freer. In that freedom, I thought, “Perhaps I am actually an introvert.”

So I gave that introvert emotional space to exist. My soul desperately needs solitude and silence to be restored. As fun as it is to entertain others with stories, I prefer sitting in the depths with someone one on one. Small talk is loathsome to me. It was freeing to step away from that which drained me.

Ah, but what to make of all my words and love of people? To claim introvert leads others to assume things about me that are not true: I don’t want to engage with them, would rather be left alone, or need time to think (I probably should take more time to think, but if you need thoughts from me, they’re right there). It’s left me lonely when I didn’t want to be.

Lately, I’ve noticed an inclination to choose solitude when I actually need people. I use the excuse that I’m an introvert, but perhaps the real reason is I’m afraid or lazy.

Easier to say I’m an introvert than drum up the courage to initiate with someone who might not have time. Admitting need is hard for me. Engaging with others is easy when I dominate conversation-harder when I have to listen well.

Perhaps on this journey, I am neither and I am both.

My suspicion is, the majority of us are. More than that, I see is how easy it is for us to use either one as an excuse. We use them to justify seeking the satisfaction of something our soul needs apart from God.

Maybe our pull toward people sometimes isn’t because they energize us, but because we are afraid of being alone. We seek affirmation that we are loved. Our souls ache for belonging. We long to feel accepted. Being with others is both a way to affirm our worth and to avoid the loneliness we dread.

There are times when we choose to be alone because we don’t want to put forth the energy to engage with others. Or we believe others disinterested in our presence. We let inertia keep us at home. And rather than using that time to feed our souls, we distract them with YouTube, social media, and a million other shallow pursuits. Our souls stay lonely.

These days, whether I feel inclined to engage with others or not, I’ve been trying instead to ask myself: what is driving me?

Am I avoiding something my soul needs to address by filling my time with people? Am I hoarding my time because I’m afraid to need others, afraid of rejection?

We all need people, and we all need solitude.

And yes, we tend to be more naturally comfortable with one or the other. But these labels harm us if we use them as an excuse to avoid what our souls truly need at any given time.

Could I suggest instead we be more contemplative? Rather than labeling ourselves one or the other, let’s acknowledge that we were made for both, and ask God to help us engage in ways that feed our souls and others.