Courageous Confessions: For Those Who Are Afraid
So, I have a true confession. A hard confession. A daring confession.
I’m not who you think I am.
You see me walking confidently through the church halls - a big flashy smile and sparkly eyes. You see me holding my head up and looking around like I own the place. But really? I’m just pretending peacefulness, I’m only feigning belonging. Inside, I’m just hoping to get out as quickly as I can.
Because the truth of the matter is:
I’m afraid of you. The ‘you’ I think you are. The faith-filled woman, ready to face any storm that comes your way, a Scripture and purpose for every situation. You stand confidently in your circle of Sunday brunch friends and don your own flashy smile and sparkly eyes. You are that out-going, friend-laden, got-it-together epitome of everything I am not.
Quite honestly, the truth of me is pretty raw and ugly.
The truth is: I’m a feisty, down-and-dirty rebel who is not wrapped neat and tidy, nor glowing in Revival’s burning light. And I get angry. A lot. I get angry at the ugliness in the world. I get angry at the masses that don’t want to see their own part in it. I get angry at the church who forgets HOW to see their part in it. And I get angry at myself for pretending to see and doing nothin’ stinkin’ about it.
The truth is: I’m a scared poser, hoping to rub elbows with another skeptic, and questioner and faith-wavering wanderer like me. Because at the heart of me I’m only seeking to lay open my life to other rabble rousers who won’t mind wading into the muck of me - without even a hint of disgust. I’m desperate to “meet and greet” a defiant Frightened One searching for Truth behind the smiles and the handshakes, braving the messiness of doubt and pain, seeing beyond the pus and infection.
The truth is: I’m tired of hiding my scars, and my unfaith-filled fears and all the years of caked on ugliness. I’m tired of pretending that inside the church walls of my heart I must be shiny and pretty. I’m tired of losing sight of why He died for me, as I hide in in this self-imprisoned shadow of smoke and mirrors, trying to be Kumbaya perfect.
Because, the hard, cold, true confession is:
I’m still as lost as I ever was.
And most times, I’m not even sure how I ended up in this tossing boat whose Captain is sleeping peacefully in the bow
...But somehow – amazingly – I did.
So why the confession?
I guess because I know he doesn’t want me in this crazy game of hide n’ seeking, just for me to end up being lost again!
Plus, I know he wasn’t looking for anything shiny and perfect then – so why would he now?
And I know he didn’t flinch at my waving fists, or turn away from spit-filled accusations, or close his ears to my fears that spewed in anger. So why would I ever try to see splinters through my own planks?
I don’t want to walk any hall pretending I know who you are. And I don’t want to feign that I am anything more or less that who I am: a sinner, loved by God and saved by his grace. No better. No worse. No more or less important than anyone else walking the halls of church or walking the streets of life.
But I also don’t want to walk in that grace - in all the amazing Glories and Alleluias - if there are people dying around me that I’ve forgotten how to touch.
I guess I’m really confessing to myself.
Because, honestly I just want to dare to walk – unmasked and unashamed -- through these hallways of my mind staring straight and unflinchingly into the eyes of those He loves. I just want my confession to be solely to the Captain who never flinches at my angry waving fists, who still is big enough for every question, every doubt and every floundering fish like me, who patiently reminds me to reach out the hand, the heart, the life of being real and yet staying soft.
I just want to walk this life – unafraid – numbered among the maybe-not-so-shiny, and the maybe- not-so-pretty... and maybe even those that are.
Oh that I dare.