Remember Who You Are

For the past seven mornings, Nate has pulled out his laptop over breakfast to read words and share videos from friends, co-laborers, co-writers, pastors, and counselors. He spent a month gathering blessings from so many dear ones and then spread them—and their gifts and letters—out over the past week of mornings. “To remind you,” he said, “of who you are by people who know the whole you.” When I shared this with my spiritual director on Monday, she asked, “Tell me about the most memorable one?” I thought for a moment and said I couldn’t. There were so many and they were all so meaningful. It was more the theme of them that is settling on me, reminding me of who I am.

My friend Sharon shared an image on Instagram this week with the words, “I’m so disappointed in you” in black on a white background. She captioned it beautifully and—especially if you are a woman in any kind of ministry—I encourage you to read it. The gist, though, is that when we step on someone’s idol, sometimes they feel their only recourse in that moment is to express disappointment in us.

I am not unfamiliar with the disappointed messages pouring in with constancy, or gossip about me coming to my attention. I described it to Nate recently like I am a dartboard and some of these darts hit me right in the bullseye (these are accusations that reinforce lies I’m inclined to believe about myself), but most of the darts hit around the edges. But enough of those darts on the cork of my being begin to erode the fidelity of the board. The cork begins to shred. Most people don’t go through every single day hearing some form of the words, “I’m disappointed in you,” or “I’m ashamed of you,” or even simply, “I disagree with you and am going to use potent, emotionally laden words to express that disagreement.” If someone was sitting across from me sharing how these were the words of their closest friends and family every single day, I would tell them they are living in an abusive situation and there is help available. But somehow, if you have any type of public ministry as a teacher, writer, pastor, speaker, we assume those folks can just weather it.

But we can’t. No human can. Humans were not created to weather abuse. God did not make us robots or steel-skinned or without hearts or emotions or spirits or bodies. We are penetrable. We are fallible. We are tender and permeable. We can be broken. Sure, we can be put back together, but the reality that we can be broken should make us very very careful about how we treat other image bearers.

Just because someone speaks or shares publicly doesn’t mean they are more resilient. In fact, if they are pressing back against celebrity culture, they will be less resilient in some ways because they leave themselves open to feedback and pushback more than someone with bodyguards and executive assistants who weed out the emails and tweets.

A wise person told me nearly a decade ago: “Find your people. Find the people who you will trust to discipline you, criticize your work, who will go to battle with you, who will pray for you, love you, seek your good, never let you get away with believing the accusations that come your way, and who are not given to flattery.” I found those people. I have those people. Most of them were among those who gave the blessings Nate read to me this past week. These are the ones who know me. The real me. The today me. They’re not ignorant to my sin, nor do they gossip about me behind my back. They’re not peppering my comment sections with flattery or gushing about my work. They’re calling me out when I’m inconsistent or pushing back on my broken ways of thinking. They’re reminding me of how God sees me. I decided a long time ago that these are the folks I’m going to receive correction from. Not because they are my biggest fans, but because they see the whole me.

I’ve felt eroded since coming home. I think it’s a combination of being a different person than the one who left ten years ago, and the fact that it’s an incredibly difficult year to rebuild relationships. The amount of darts thrown at me (or about me) since I’ve come back has been painful, more than I imagined it would be. My politics are different, my theology is different, my marital status is different, my body is different, my boundaries are different—and differences can scare people, especially when those people only think they know the person with differences but don’t actually know them.

Recently some new friends came over for dinner and we talked long, deep, vulnerably, all of us. It was a long drink from a deep well. Someone had warned them about spending time with us (I know not who nor why), but as they left, one said, “This has been such a good evening, your home is so peaceful, and the conversation so good.” Ah. I remembered. This is who we are.

My friend KJ reminded me of something she said Eugene Peterson said (I can’t find the quote but it seems like something he would say). Something about when we forget who we are, to look in a mirror and call that person saint. I needed to hear that, for more reasons than I have space for today, but mainly because I forget and I have plenty of people who want to help me forget because they think the word “saint” is reserved for people who think just like them. But it’s not and that’s the most brilliant effect of the gospel—it’s for everyone who believes in Jesus and confesses him as Lord, regardless of their theology or politics or body or marital status. It’s the great leveler, as my old pastor used to say.

I had a lot of people bless me with the truth of who I am this week. The specific affirmations and blessings they gave are unimportant to you because you’re someone who needs different affirmations and blessings. But I hope you have those people in your life, especially if you’re someone who receives many spoken or written comments or critique. For the days when it’s hard to look in the mirror and say “Saint,” I need other saints to remind me of who I am. I think we all do. I hope you have some of them in your life too.