identity Archives - Page 4 of 4

The Soul Needs to Be Seen

Post author:Gina B
Post published:January 14, 2015
Post category:identity loved word of the year

The Soul Needs to Be Seen

One comment was all it took, “And underneath, I hear the emotion.”

My soul was seen.

It was an astute observation from a teammate, summarizing what I shared with our team about my experiences in 2014. He’s a tender-hearted guy, this one, and he always manages to look underneath the surface.

I teared up in response (I tear up at car commercials and national cheerleading competitions and – oh, you name it, I get verklempt). My emotions kept bubbling to the surface as we went around the room and others shared how they heard me too. Just when I thought maybe I had it together I leaked again.

Being seen like that is unnerving. I felt exposed. Undone. But the tears were happy ones. They were “you see me” tears.

It’s a powerful thing, for a soul to be seen.

Our souls are the truest parts of us. They long to be seen. We want people to know who we really are, but so often we hide behind masks and false selves that we feel are more acceptable to the world. We aren’t invited to share from the deeper, truer places in ourselves.

There’s no space. No time. But sometimes, the soul makes itself known. If we’re fortunate the person who witnesses it says, “I see who you are, and I welcome it.” And our souls are blessed.

I don’t feel that as often as I need. In the busyness of being a mama, it’s easy to miss those places where I could be seen by others. It takes intentionality of time and vulnerability – hard to find in carpool pass offs and hallway greetings and church meet and greets. This time with our team reminded me how important it is to seek out time with the dear people in our lives who see, hear, understand, know, and love us.

In Genesis 16, we find one is my favorite names for God. Sarai and Abram send Hagar away. God meets her there in her sadness and pain, and blesses her. “So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.” Therefore the well was called Beer-lahai-roi (which means “well of the Living One who sees me”). He is El Roi, the God who sees our souls.

It does our souls good to be seen – by God and by others. In the absence of the times when we can be with others who see our souls, we remember there is always One who does. Be refreshed at the well of the Living One who sees us.

Who sees your soul?

A Story of Two Houses

Post author:Gina B
Post published:November 5, 2013
Post category:faith identity

This is a story of two houses.

Years ago, I was introduced to the idea that from the beginning of life, we build a house for ourselves. This house is constructed of the strategies we use to make life work apart from God. It’s how we find our place, protect ourselves from pain, feel loved and needed. Our houses all look different but in many ways they are the same. They serve us well. They help us. They make us feel secure.

Along the way, if we meet God, He will offer us another house. It’s a far superior house, as all God’s resources are superior. It has a better foundation, one grounded in His truth about us. It’s not affected by wind or rain. Really, it’s a better place to live.

So sometimes we live there. But often, we’re not even aware of it, or if we are, we don’t feel a need for it. The house we’ve built seems quite sufficient.

The problem is, though, it’s not really a house. It’s a prison.

When I learned about these houses, I began to see how well my prison held me. My well-constructed strategies of staying put together and performing well keep me from being free, from being vulnerable. They kept me from the very solid existence in truth that I thought they gave me.

God’s house looked appealing. The problem was, I didn’t know how to live there. It felt too open, exposed, unknown. I looked back at my own house and thought, “Well, I can’t live there, but I don’t know how to live here.” I felt emotionally homeless.

Over the years, I have slowly been learning what it looks like to live more consistently in the house God has for me. It’s a house where life and love come not from something I do or what the world provides, but from His deep and unchanging love for me, and who He says I am.

I hoped at some point that I would be able to burn the old house down so that it was no longer an option. This seems reasonable to me – why would God want me to live somewhere else? At times I have asked Him to put me in His house, to lock the doors and board up the windows, so that I can never leave. I know that every time I try to use my own strategies to make life work, I dishonor Him. I deny His love for me. I reject the life He offers. I put myself back in prison. I want Him to keep me from doing that.

But He won’t. The choice is there every day for me. Will I choose to rely on my own ways? Or will I leave behind what feels like life and trust in that which truly is? It means living by faith, having the courage to be open, to keep my heart awake, to not retreat to safety but hold tight to Him.

What about you? Where are you living today?

Third Culture Kids

Post author:Gina B
Post published:October 17, 2013
Post category:31 Days of Victory identity parenting transition

We just returned from watching the movie Gravity and I am convinced of two things:

1) Astronaut has always been low in my career ranking, but after seeing that it’s just not even in the running anymore, and . . .

2) My victory today is our kids.

See, I was reflecting, on the drive home, about the re-entry astronauts have to endure when coming back to earth, which got me thinking about the whole re-entry into American culture, and I thought, “Wow. Our kids are pretty amazing.”

It’s not easy as an adult to mentally and emotionally adjust back to the States after 13 years away, but for our kids it’s literally a foreign country that they’re trying to learn to call home. And they’re kids also going through all the normal stuff kids have to figure out. Yet they’re pressing on every day, making friends, learning how to do school, embracing what comes. I’m crazy proud of them and how they’ve endured. That’s no small victory.

What are you calling victory today?

Talking to Myself

Post author:Gina B
Post published:October 1, 2013
Post category:31 Days of Victory identity loved truth

Ok, here goes. I can tell already that this is going to be a good challenge for me, if for no other reason than that it makes me think about it all day. This detracts from me thinking about other, less important things, like where I could find some chocolate or whether or not my hair is behaving.

I also have the feeling though that the things I will be led to call victories will require a higher degree of transparency than I might typically want to display on a regular basis. Yikes!

Take today, for example. This morning, my husband and I were asked to share for a few minutes at the day of prayer about faith. I’d been thinking about what to say for a few days and felt confident of what I should say. In the few minutes before we were going to speak, though, I started getting nervous.

So I asked myself why I would be anxious, and the answer is: this was one of the first times I was speaking to these people. I wanted them to like me. No, if I’m honest it’s more than that – I wanted them to think well of me and be impacted by what I said. I wanted them to be impressed, to find me valuable.

When I realize things like that, I can get discouraged. I don’t like that I care so much about what others think, about the image I portray. But I’m learning to take those desires at face value and say, “I get why you feel that way, but Gina, it doesn’t matter what people think. What matters is that you say what God has put on your heart. He has already established your value. This changes nothing.”

So I had that little internal pep talk with myself, right there in the second row, took a deep breath, and relaxed. And right there, that’s what I’m calling victory.

What can you call victory today?

An Open Letter to the World

Post author:Gina B
Post published:September 9, 2013
Post category:identity loved

Somewhere early on, I concluded that my heart was not important.

The world doesn’t often ask for our hearts. It asks for our cooperation, our performance, our silence, our strength, our appearance, our obedience, but not our hearts. So I set mine aside and gave what the world asked of me instead. We all do, in our own ways.

But we can’t live without our hearts, and God knows it.

So He started chipping away at the carefully constructed strategies I’d built around my heart to protect it; the ways I strive to impress, to perform, to be admirable. He talked to me about His love, His freedom, His grace. He told me that yes, He does want my heart. All of it. And not just the parts I find acceptable or pleasing or enjoyable. Not just the positive emotions, but the anger and doubts and fears and shame and grief and depravity. He has spent years stripping away the layers on the outside, while He fills me up from the inside, trying to show me that life is meant to be lived wholeheartedly, open heartedly, big heartedly. He’s been waking me up, bringing me to back to life.

I would love to say that trying to live with my whole heart is easy, but it’s isn’t. Often, it means living with an ache – of griefs recognized, hurts owned, desires unmet. It is living in the in between, a belly-exposed kind of vulnerability.

But it’s in this place that I am learning how important my heart is. When I own my whole heart, there is freedom, authenticity, a greater capacity to love and be loved. And it’s not only for me, but for others as well. When I own what is in my heart and share it, it draws people. It gives permission to others to bring their hearts too. As my heart grows, I cannot help but want to help others find the depths of theirs. My heart breaks when I see others numb, ignore, kill, and shame their own hearts. It is not how we were meant to live.

So my hope, my mission in life, is to be an authentic voice that calls others to wholeheartedly live our their true selves in Christ. We cannot be all that we are called to be in Christ if we leave our hearts behind. By God’s grace, I hope to continue on this journey of living with my whole heart, and helping others to do the same.

Being Human

Post author:Gina B
Post published:May 8, 2013
Post category:courage grace identity

So I’m in this women’s group about shame. Yep, shame. Sounds fun right? And not at all awkward.

We’re talking about it because it’s the topic of a book we’re reading by Brené Brown, and if you don’t know who she is you should go find out. Wow. Just wow.

The book we’re reading is called I Thought it was Just Me (But it Isn’t). It’s about recognizing shame and building shame resilience.

Shame is the fear of disconnection. It is the feeling that there is something about us that is wrong, and that wrongness separates us from others. It sends us into hiding.

What I keep coming back to as we talk about this topic is that so much shame comes from the fact that we all have a hard time just being human. Shame outright sucker punches us when we buy into the messages all around us about what we should be, what we should do, what we should have.

The expectations are huge and conflicting and impossible, but we try with everything we have to meet them so that we don’t have to feel like we’re the ones left out. Shame tells us that it’s not ok to just be who we are, to be human.

I have a friend who says we all vacillate between believing that we are superhuman or subhuman. When we’re superhuman, we think we can do it all, that if we try just a little harder we can achieve that ideal. We refuse to accept that we have needs or limits.

Or we decide we can’t do it, we’re not good enough, we’re less than, and we put ourselves in the subhuman category. We vote ourselves off the island. Either way it’s shame at work.

I’m realizing through this group that shame doesn’t have to win.

We can all just be our imperfect, struggling, up and down, awesome and less than awesome selves. But to do that, we have to take a hard look at those expectations. We have to stop listening to them. But more than that – we need to talk about what they do to us.

We’ve been doing that in this group, because the cure for shame is empathy. We share our stories and we listen and try to enter in and say “you’re not alone.” At times it feels awkward and uncomfortable, because we want so much to do it well, but more and more it brings the greatest sense of relief and acceptance. It’s a joy to be able to say, “This is me being human” and to have others say, “Yeah, I’m human too.”

Why can’t we all just be human?