Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

fear

Swimming in the deep end

Today’s post is part of the second leadership synchroblog by Evangelical Seminary. This week’s topic: How do we define “depth” in leadership? (You can also read my contribution on the topic of “What makes a good leader?”)

I’m not a big fan of swimming. Oh, I can watch Michael Phelps or Missy Franklin or any other Olympic swimmer do their thing in primetime, but to suit up myself and do some laps? No, thanks.

Truth be told, the water sort of scares me. I’m good in the shallow end, where I can touch the bottom, but lead me into deeper waters and I start to envision drowning and dramatic rescues. My lungs start to burn thinking about holding my breath and I get leg cramps and … well, you get the idea. It’s not pretty in my head.

I sometimes feel the same way about depth. Deep people scare me a little. They’re so in tune with who they are and what they’re about. They’re comfortable with their weaknesses and failures and they don’t seem to care what other people think.

Me? I’m over in the kiddie pool of conversation, deflecting questions to other people like a beach ball in a game of keep away. I’m unnaturally curious about other people (it’s the journalist in me) but asking me to go deep is like asking me to jump off the high dive in front of an audience. It’s not going to happen. At least not without help.

And that’s where deep leaders come in.

© Lisa James | Dreamstime.com

If we stick with the swimming analogy, they’re in the deep end already. They’ve faced their fears and forged ahead in spite of them. They’ve been in over their heads, learned how to keep their heads above water without losing focus. They’ve gained strength and stamina from being in a place where few people tread. They’ve made the decision to step away from the easy, shallow waters and make waves in the deeper water.And deep leaders don’t exclude others from the deep end. They not only say, “Come on in, the water’s fine,” they swim back to those in the shallow end and guide the willing into deeper waters, sharing their experiences of going deep. They acknowledge that, yes, the deep end can be scary, but it won’t overwhelm us. Like these words from Scripture:

When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.

Some of my deepest moments have come because of others who were willing to share the deep parts of themselves with me first. And they’ve been deep waters I’ve needed to pass through. Without a hand to guide me, I would have been overwhelmed.

Deep leaders have passed through the deep waters of life and are still swimming.

How would you define depth in leadership?

Limping into church

Last week, two days after minor outpatient knee surgery, my husband limped into church with his knee bulging with bandages.

He drew quite a bit of attention, including questions like: “What’d you do?” and “Get in a fight?” and, my personal favorite, “She kick you?” (Yes, all 5’4″ of me kicked my 6’0″  husband hard enough to make him limp and send him to the hospital.)

They were concerned and like family, that sometimes comes out with humor. Even this week, people asked about his knee.

Funny, isn’t it, how easy it is to ask and answer when the wounds are physical.

The same day people were asking my husband about his knee, I was spiritually and emotionally limping into church, carefully preparing an answer to the “how are you?” question that was honest yet not overwhelming. Because frankly, I’m not fine. Or good. Or okay. But I say those things to protect myself from an all-out public cryfest.

Because if I answered honestly, I’d be a puddle of tears, and I might not stop crying. And you might hear me doubt God. And wonder if He’s there. And question whether He’s good. And lament our lot, for now.  And for some reason I think those things aren’t appropriate for church.

Am I the only one who puts on an everything’s-fine face on Sunday mornings?

My husband’s recent surgery and church attendance make me wonder how many of us there are. How many of us are limping on the inside but walking tall on the outside? How many of us are feeling not quite right and need some rest but don’t feel like that’s a good excuse to miss church or Sunday School? How many of us are desperate for someone to really ask us about our internal wounds and at the same time scared that if they do they might regret it? (You can’t see me, but I’m raising my hands yelling, “Me! Me! Me!”)

This isn’t the first time I’ve wondered this.

And I still wonder what to do about it. Do I just let it all out? Do I admit that this is definitely NOT how I envisioned life after seminary? That even though I’ll be a pastor’s wife someday, I’m not all that happy with God right now?

I have people who know these things; people I run to when I just need to say, “Life sucks!” But I feel like a fraud when I appear to have it all under control on Sunday mornings. Because I am so. not. in. control.

I have not lost faith. I won’t lose faith. Because Jesus has changed my life in incredible, impossible ways. He means too much to me to give Him up.

I am wrestling, though. Wandering in a desert that seems to be without end. Clinging to the slimmest of margins. Trusting in what looks impossible by human standards.

And that’s not always pretty.

So, accept my apology for putting on a happy face when I feel anything but happy. Forgive my feeble attempts to convince you I’m fine when I’m not.

Teach me how to let you in so I don’t feel like a fake. Help me to show you my wounds without shame.

And let me do the same for you.