One thing I learned about myself in 2016 is that I need to be more vulnerable. From a young age I taught myself to look at the needs of others and care for them. I am not sure where I picked this up, but as far back as I could remember this is what I did. Even for the people that were supposed to be taking care of me I felt a responsibility to make sure they were okay. I remember during my parents divorce being asked by my attorney who I wanted to live with. I remember the feeling of being torn because I didn’t want to choose between the two. I mean what kid wants to choose between living with each of their parents? But the reason for my inner angst in my five year old heart was wanting to make sure my parents did not feel rejected by me.
It sounds like a noble trait to have I suppose, but what I have been realizing is that it makes it difficult for those closest to me to love me. It makes relationships lopsided. I can meet the needs of others well. Even while I am sleeping I pay attention to the needs of others (that was meant figuratively, but actually is true literally when it comes to Sarah and our dog Chippy). The only person’s needs I cannot pick up on are my own. This poses a problem when my poor wife doesn’t know what I need from her. Then I get passively angry because I don’t feel known or understood.
When I realized this problem I thought it would be simple to fix. I would just simply practice voicing my needs more. Then I realized I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to voice my needs because I don’t know how to identify my needs. So recently I have resorted to what I know best, and that is to find a book on the matter. So I recently picked up Donald Miller’s book “Scary Close,” subtitled, “Dropping the Act and Finding True Intimacy.”
I am 5 chapters in and I can relate to his story. He writes about his recent journey of getting married and realizing how he has been a professional actor his whole life. His stage was not with lights in front of a paying audience, but rather all of his social interactions, his professional life, and just about every other aspect of his life where he was around people. He writes about finally going to a rehab center to work through his codependency issues. One of the rules of the center was that no one was able to talk about what they did for a profession.
This struck me. They weren’t allowed to talk about what they did for a living. I am in an interesting transition right now. I have left my role at the Adventures in Missions home office as long term missionary trainer and member care. There was not a point during my time there where I was not intentionally disciplining someone. I felt valued and respected for my understanding of the God’s Word and ability to develop people into maturity. I had something to offer and it was easy to gain a sense of belonging from the role I played.
In 10 days I will be back in Cambodia, the place where my communication skills are less sophisticated than a 3 year old’s. The place where the translation of my job title literally means, “person with a mission” (that sounds kinda creepy and confusing if you ask me). And it’s the place where none of my previous accolades mean anything. Within our organization I have also went from a place of leadership over missionaries to being led on a team of people that I just recently trained.
With all of that I am tempted even more to prove myself by what I do and what I have to offer. But I am realizing this is not what God has for me. He is teaching me vulnerability. He is teaching me weakness. He is showing me what He meant when he said, “the greatest among you will be your servant.” Servants don’t have titles. They don’t have accolades. They are vulnerable and in a place of weakness. I feel that way right now, and I need it. I don’t feel like embracing it, but I am choosing to, and I know it will be great.
