Category: Unmasked: stories of authenticity

On wearing masks in ministry

After far too long a break, I am delighted to welcome another guest contributor to the Stories of authenticity blog series. Mark Meynell has written an incredibly honest, and exceedingly helpful, book on his own experiences of facing depression. He has kindly provided an excerpt from the book here, which looks at when it is appropriate to wear a mask – and when it is really unhelpful to do so. It is an interesting discussion around the whole subject of mask-wearing, particularly for those leading some kind of ministry, and he handles it with real wisdom and insight. He introduces the excerpt below:

I have been in Christian ministry for 25 years. And in common with practically everyone else alive, I have worn masks. Not literally, of course. At times, a mask has been the means of self-preservation, at others a ministry preserver – and even an act of generosity and service. In other words, masks can and should have their place. To some extent. But they are also detrimental to psychological wellbeing and community life. They conceal rather than reveal. They can do even more damage to the wearer than they do to those who only encounter the external presentation.

I found myself thinking a great deal about this as I wrote my book on the experience of depression in ministry. I realised it was a recurring theme and that I was never going to improve until I faced up to what I had instinctively done since before even becoming a teenager, and then dealt with it. So here are some of those thoughts from the early pages of the book, taking us back to the glory days of ancient Greek theatre…

—

Imagine some great theatre, a monumental seashell carved out of a Mediterranean mountainside. At the base of this banked semicircle is the circular stage, backed by a great wall of doors, alcoves and openings on multiple levels, from which actors playing gods might intervene in the drama. All the main action takes place on the central stage, however. The genius of these buildings is that the sightlines and acoustics are perfect, despite being open to the elements. An entire audience can see and hear everything. Because all the actors wear identical clay masks, however, the one skill they never require is facial expression. Their movements are rigidly stylized as well. Instead, they must rely entirely on the script and their vocal skills to move audiences to tears or laughter. But this they consistently achieve.

The purpose of these masks was to focus an audience’s attention on the charactersand not the actors bringing them to life. The effect, I suppose, is a bit like movie stars hidden by layers of prosthetics or digital animation. The mask also reminds the audience that this is make-believe; it is pretence; it is in fact a lie. All acting is lying. But here is the great paradox of drama: if these lies are acted convincingly, truth (whether about reality or relationships) gets conveyed powerfully.

We are perfectly familiar with this, and, in our entertainment-obsessed world, we applaud those who can pull off the widest range of parts.

But should we always be so impressed? The ancient Greek word for actor was hypocritēs (ὑποκρῐτής), which, at first, only implied someone who explained or interpreted something. But by New Testament times, it was more negative. It suggested someone who was untrustworthy. They pretended to be one thing while underneath being something else; they presented a good front to mask their reality.

Of course, it needs to be recognized that this is not always negative. Temporary masks have their place, and nearly all of us make use of them. On occasion, it may even be right to use them. We really shouldn’t blurt out every thought that pops into our heads. That usually does more harm than good. Self- control is an important virtue, and so this type of mask is as much for others’ protection as anything else.

At other times, it is neither appropriate nor necessary for those around us to be aware of every vulnerability or anxiety. A mask is thus a form of protection, necessary to shield emotional wounds from being aggravated, or from being exposed at an inappropriate moment. It is an act, in some ways – ‘I’m fine,’ we say – a pretence that all is well. That is not a lie as such, but an act of self-defence. As one good friend remarked to me, ‘fine’ can actually serve as an acronym, standing for ‘Feelings Inside Not Expressed!’. It is an understandable mask, and if we never made use of it, we would probably never escape those after-church conversations that already seem interminable enough.

MINISTRY MASKS

This mask is particularly important for those in Christian ministry. As we seek to pastor and love others, especially the vulnerable, there are times when we must swallow our pride or irritation, ignore our own needs or pressing concerns, for the sake of the urgent or important. We must show consistency and integrity, of course. But when I climb into a pulpit, I may be feeling 1,001 different things, most of which would be irrelevant, inappropriate or unhelpful to mention.We have a duty to teach what is true and healthy, even if we might wish to be miles away. We act out of Christian duty, which invariably conflicts with our emotions and passions. This is true even in normal family life, where it might be necessary to park a discussion or argument because of something more pressing (such as friends coming for a meal). Unsurprisingly, it is necessary in upfront ministry as well. This is not avoidance, but finding the right moment (unless, of course, we don’t return to it).

In the strictest sense, that could be defined as hypocrisy. We are pretending. We are acting. But because of the complexity of human nature, there is a sense in which none of us can avoid being hypocritical to some degree. None of us ever has perfectly aligned motives or desires. Even Jesus found himself in great conflict in the Garden of Gethsemane – his deepest fears were militating against his determination to do his Father’s will (Matthew 26:36–46).

What matters, I suppose, is how regularly this happens when doing our duty. No-one can be expected to hold in constant balance their duty and passions, their beliefs, feelings and actions, their words and deeds. Being ‘out of sync’ is not hypocrisy – only the pretence of always being ‘in sync’ is. And this is where we begin to home in on what Jesus was so critical of. He lambasted the Pharisees for their claims to perfection and their subsequent self-righteous contempt for others:

You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness. (Matthew 23:27–28)

WHEN THE MASK BECOMES A HABIT

The issue is how honest we are about our weakness and flaws. Self-defence masks are like that. They are not Pharisaical, they rarely claim perfection, nor do they make people self- righteous. The problem comes when wearing them becomes a habitual, or even permanent, way of being. This was what happened to me. Since childhood, I had developed self-defence habits that kept me going temporarily, but which proved unsustainable long-term. It was as if the ancient actor’s mask had become glued to my face. I played a part – of the approachable, sorted, though emotionally up and down, friend, and later pastor. So, for example, after I first mentioned my depression diagnosis in public (during a question and answer session at a church retreat), a friend came up to me in shock. She remarked that had she known there was a church staff member with this diagnosis, she would never have guessed it was me.

But this mask was artificial. It concealed reality and inhibited support. Nobody who’s ‘fine’ needs help . . . right? So the mask inevitably started cracking, revealing that things really were not right.

Mark Meynell is Europe & Caribbean Director for Langham Preaching (a programme of Langham Partnership), and a part-time Chaplain in Whitehall. He is married to Rachel and they have two (almost) grown up children, He is the author of a number of books on various subjects, and is currently working on his first novel. This excerpt is taken from When Darkness Seems My Closest Friend, published by IVP.

 

 

 

Remember why you started dating

I am so pleased to be guest blogging over on Tiffany Montgomery’s marriage and motherhood blog Hope & Joy in Christ as part of her ’31 Ways to Reclaim Joy in a Christian Marriage Series’, taking place throughout July.

Here is a little taster:

‘What was it that attracted you to him in the first place?’

That was the first question I was asked when I sat in a room with my husband, facing a husband and wife counselling team.

I was taken aback. It wasn’t something that I had thought about – for years. I was only there having made the decision to go back to our marriage and try and work our issues through. But I was at the point of wrestling with God as to whether I would ever be able to feel love for my husband again – and now I was being asked what had originally drawn me to him!

I found it hard to answer for a while. But I eventually did – a bit through gritted teeth at the time. And then, once my husband answered the question about me, it was followed by another: ‘What did you like to do together when you first went out on dates?’ When we had both answered, they then set our ‘homework’ for that week – to choose one thing out of what we had said and go and do it.

To read the rest of the article, please click here. On that page, you can also enter the giveaway for a chance to win a copy of my book Taking Off the Mask 🙂

My experience of divorce – unmasked

I am delighted to welcome Kathey Batey to the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog series today. For the last 12 years Kathey has worked with those going through divorce, as a mediator and by running support groups. But she has her own personal story, which she has bravely agreed to share here. The blog is long, but I’ve kept it long because I think her honesty will help others. 

I have been asked in numerous radio and television interviews about my personal story of divorce because I wrote the book series Suddenly Single and I have worked with hundreds of individuals and groups going through divorce. I skirt around my own story and try to “clean it up” as much as possible. I do this for a couple of reasons: one reason is to shield my children from the “grit” of the divorce, and another because my former spouse is deceased and I have no intention of dishonoring him. But in protecting or cleaning up my story, it doesn’t honestly relate to yours. I want to relate to you because chances are your story is ugly, hurtful and surreal to you. Mine is to me. I’m going unmasked, in the hopes it will relate to you and give you hope. Here is the unmasked version. I tell it only for you to know that you are not alone.

I stood in the kitchen and I asked God to hold me. It was the second time he left. Five days earlier, the day the divorce was supposed to be final, he asked if he could come back. He wanted our family back. I embraced the thought and I embraced him. He came back, to the same issues we had before. “You’re just not what I want”, he told me numerous times, I’m not sure how one responds to that statement, as if I could change my core self. I couldn’t, and at this point in my failing marriage where he was dissatisfied, unaccepting of me, being unable to meet his expectations, I wouldn’t. I had shut down years before because I felt I could do nothing right, so I retreated to that cave again. In that painful cave of hiding, God held me. 

 Satan was deceiving him and destroying our family. How could he buy into the lie there was something better, more exciting than what he had here? We had a family, three fabulous teenagers, who never rebelled and were a joy to watch grow and become adults. They were active in sports with great friends who made our home the gathering place for teens. We had reunions, church groups and church services on our ranch of eight acres, a pond in the middle of the property with fish and wildlife. The woods were filled with wildflowers of Trillium and Jack in the Pulpit. It was heaven on earth to me.  

I wasn’t the perfect wife. I was not his mother. She was the perfect housekeeper, the great cook. She never struggled with putting on extra pounds. Where is the maturity when we realize we are grown up and our spouses won’t be our parent? In all, my loving mother-in-law seemed the perfect wife and mother and I loved her dearly. She was very good to me. But she died of alcoholism, having been married to an alcoholic abusive partner. She didn’t know how to stand up for herself and she took her pain inward.

 In that kitchen where my soul plummeted to the bottom of the cave, God caught me. It wasn’t a superman swoop, but it was a sudden fullness and comfort in my heart that contrasted where I was at that moment and showed me I was not alone. I would need to depend on that Spirit in the days ahead. This was one of the many dramatic times in my divorce.

I remember to this day shortly after he left again, standing in the bathroom getting ready for work, listening to the song by Pam Thumb, “Life is hard, the world is cold, you’re barely young and then you’re old. Every fallen tear is always understood, life is hard, but God is good.” That song spoke my heart, life was hard and the world is cold. And I certainly had those tears, but God was so good to me. Flashback in that same bathroom when my husband came to the door once, and I slipped down my nightgown and he turned and walked away. Rejection is painful.

THE NEED FOR SUPPORT

Rejection brings it’s own grief. I questioned everything while going through my divorce: my value as a woman, my value as a person, my value as a life. I could go into those unhealthy thoughts easily because of his perception of me was degrading during marriage and listening to the words of rejection can put you into a dark spiral. But time passed and perception was gained. I thank God for putting the voices and the people He did in my life to walk through this with me. They were not profound, deep, directive voices; they were co-workers, pastors, church friends with simple kindnesses, compassion and listening ears. They related to me, they normalised my trauma. This is why I feel so strongly about how the church ministers to those who are divorcing. It is because I saw where the church was there for me, and I also saw where they were absent for me in my deepest time of need.  

It is mind-boggling, yet necessary to make the mind shift that the person you trusted with your life for twenty years, confided life decisions and submitted your body and soul to, has become an unsafe person. I struggled with it, as those in my support groups do. It does something to your mind and sanity when you try to wrap your head around that fact; it is indescribable, ironic and adds anger to the betrayal of the moment. To hear lawyers, judges and strangers get into your personal business; habits, priorities and what seems your underwear drawer, send you reeling! One of the reasons I believe in group so much, is they can walk through the cruel legal process of divorce. You don’t know who is on your side or who is there to rack up hours of legal fees.  

It is surreal to look around your established home of twenty years of marriage and see all of your belongings and your life on the table for bargaining. It is so unsettling, disorienting and bewildering. I’m reminded of my own experience every time I hold mediations and watch people divide their lives into two piles.

WHEN LIFE BECOMES A SOAP OPERA

Just when you think there is a moment of sanity or calm, things happen that sound like a soap opera, trashy episodes that you would watch in disgust, now come part of your story…

Sitting at the table with my daughter and my mother eating lunch, the phone rang. It was a woman, whose voice I did not recognize. She was brief and to the point of her purpose for the call. “I just wanted you to know, I’ve been sleeping with your husband the last six months.”

I had lived my life trying to be a woman and family of class. Raised in an alcoholic home, poverty was only because alcohol got more prominence than the children. My mother worked as a waitress to care and provide for us. My father bought drinks for his baseball team, his golf league or stole things to bring into the home. In contrast was mom, hard working, sacrificing everything for her family. I never went without because of mom. Dad, I understand more in hindsight, was a WWII vet, who had issues of his own to deal with after serving in the military and the atrocities he witnessed. He died when I was 13. Truth be told, he was my hero in many ways, but also a figure that terrified me.

On the way to a sporting event for one of my children, I went into Wal-Mart to pick up something for the kids, and was surprised to see him and the woman. I encountered her. This was my soap opera moment that I would never encourage people to carry out. Confrontation is dangerous in many ways.  At that time, I was naive and angry and I walked up to her and without emotion stated slowly, “You are a cheap imitation of me.” I waited for no reply. I left the premises. I was the wife, I was the honored one, the favored one in a holy position. I will not throw that away as I had been discarded. I will take claim of that God-ordained place.

KNOWING YOUR VALUE

Telling people you are divorcing is so difficult. You know there is no gentle way to say it. You know when you do you will cry when you start talking about it. Those feelings are normal and difficult to swallow (even though you try to swallow the tears). I chose only close friends and family first and then I was better able to speak it without the tears and later as stated fact.

 Years have passed, perspective has been gained – as I purposely and intentionally worked on my healing. Today, I hear the heartbreak of hundreds of people, men and women. When they are wide eyed in shock from the betrayal of their mate, I understand.When they feel their loss of value and ask the question, “Why wasn’t I worth fighting for?” I understand. You are, I was.

Satan is at work to destroy families, because he knows how vital they are to life. But God is the God of second chances. Jesus is our second chance. Now is time to see your value, and to discover the beautiful life God has for you. We are secure in him. Even in the most insecure times, we are secure in Him. He is whom you hold onto. He will guide you through. He will guide you and reveal to you things you never knew or understood. For many, it is the truth that sometimes the reason for divorce has nothing to do with you, sometimes spouses have issues you cannot fix nor be the answer to. It takes years to gain the perspective that helps you see your life clearly. Not saying years will ever make it right, but years make it clearer and more manageable.

My determination from that day he left the second time and since is: my story and my life will not end like this. I will not be the victim, even though so much was taken, wronged and a drastic contrast to the life we were living. What can you do with such trash, pain and injustice? You hand it over to God and say, “hold me, lead me, give me wisdom for the path I take.” God isn’t finished with you. The best is yet to be. Over the past twenty+ years God has been the greatest husband to me. He is the Provider, the Protector (even from myself), the Lover of my soul. Learn to know Him in this way.

This is part of my divorce unmasked; I could write a book…(Oh wait, I did!) on more of the details. It is real and it is messy. Just like your divorce. This is a painful, yet powerful time in your life. Use it wisely; it will make you or destroy you. I marvel at God’s patience and how He always shows up in my groups and in my life and takes the unmasked, messy moments and somehow restores and chooses to empower us through them.

Kathey Batey is the creator of Divorce Support Anonymous and author of the Suddenly Single book series published by David C. Cook. She is a domestic mediator and has held support groups for people going through divorce. Connect with her on FaceBook page Divorce Support Anonymous or her website www.DivorceSupportAnonymous.com

 

Kate Bowler on grief, cancer – and touch

There has been a lot of noise about Kate Bowler’s book Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved. And rightly so. In it she is incredibly honest about what it is like to live with a cancer diagnosis. How difficult it is to go through treatment, cope with friends’ and family members’ processing, as well as receiving endless explanations from strangers about why she has cancer (she wrote an article for the New York Times).

Knowing about my Unmasked blog series, Kate’s publicist and publisher offered me the chance to share an extract of my choice from the book. It feels especially poignant to be doing this now, as just last week I lost a dear friend to cancer. I am certain that she is now fully pain-free, and with her Saviour, but for those of us who are left behind we mourn and grieve. I am so grateful for those moments that I was able to share with her in her last days. Grateful too for this book, as it taught me how important touch is – and so I remembered to reach out and give my friend a hug as I said goodbye for what turned out to be the last time. It’s also taught me that grief starts early, which I am finding in another situation I am currently experiencing.

I know cancer is a particularly emotive subject, and full of pain for many. I hope that Kate’s naked honesty, and sprinkling of humour, will help others to understand what it is really like for those with cancer – and how we can be better at supporting them even as we process the emotional pain ourselves. Over to Kate…

There must be rhythms to grief, but I do not know them.

People begin to take their turns grieving me because it can’t be done all at once. Family and friends who could not be at the hospital for my operation come to stay at the house, and we start all over at the beginning.

I sit outside, wrapped in the same blankets and taking in the sunshine, all my favorite people orbiting around me. My pastor takes out her Psalms and reads a little, gripping my hand. My mom cooks a lot, stocking the freezer with everything that is suggested to be anticancer. My older sister, Amy, sends treats and constant encouragement, while Maria, my younger sister, gives me her words when she can’t be there, sending me poems and bits of trivia from New York, where she is working as an editor for a Catholic magazine. She has two big hopes for me: one, that I will be cured; the other, that, before it is over, I will punch the nearest inconsiderate person in the face.

I have so many fears, spoken and unspoken. When I first got my job at Duke and realized that I was going to live in the United States for some time, I made a lot of loud protestations about how “I will not die in a foreign land!” I also made clear that I would not die in my office, not only because that had happened before to professors (prone, as they are, to get preoccupied by their research) but also because it seemed sad, at twenty-nine, to feel exiled to the Land of Opportunity for eternity. I think back on how I casually strategized about where I would be buried, concerned that I would never be able to reconcile all the parts of my identity. A daughter who lives far from family. A friend who spends too much time at work. A wanderer but a type A planner. I wondered if I would ever be one, whole person. But now I am not hoping for completeness of any kind. All I can think of are the logistics. One night I wake up almost every hour because my mind has seized on a horrible question: Wouldn’t it be a paperwork nightmare to move my body? To take me home?

When I teach pastors at the seminary where I work, I lecture them about the First Great Awakening and religious responses to the Civil War and how their political differences will ruin their next Thanksgiving if they don’t learn to shut their traps. But as a historian, I have never spent any time teaching them how to perform baptisms, officiate weddings, or conduct funerals. And I have certainly never told them what to say when they visit someone who is dying and how not to sit on her couch, mouth full of cookies, and ask endless questions about how cancer treatment works. I did not tell them how few of their words are needed but how much their hands are wanted, a hand on my back as I tear up, a hand on my head for a soft prayer for healing. When I feel I am fading away, these hands prop me up and make me new. When my older colleague Frank, who lost his own adult son, found his way into my hospital room, he wrapped his strong hands around mine and said, quietly: “I wore this clerical collar to impress you. And also to get through hospital security.”

Kate Bowler is an assistant professor in the school of divinity at Duke University. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and son. Currently the experimental immunology treatment she is undergoing is working, and studies suggest Kate has at least another year to live.

 

 

From accused, misunderstood and labelled to precious daughter of God…

I am thrilled to welcome Joanna Chee to the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog series. She is a true source of encouragement to those who connect with her, which I felt first-hand when she agreed to be a beta reader for my book Taking Off the Mask.

I love God’s timing and the way He knits things together – the subject matter she touches on in this blog post is one that God has been prompting me to speak on at conferences recently. Becoming the people that others labelled us as – even years ago – rather than who God made us to be is something many of us struggle with. And God, in His grace, may well reveal to us episodes in our own past that have an unhealthy hold on us. If Joanna’s story resonates with you, why not take the time to go before God and ask Him to minister to your heart, and let you know if there is anything from your past that still has a grip on you. He is a healing God and wants to see you walk into true freedom in Him… But enough of me – it’s over to Joanna now!

God has done an amazing unmasking in my life the last few years.

I have such new joy in being me!

I’ve thrown off labels. I’ve received deep healing. I’ve found freedom in being who I really am – a precious daughter of God.

I grew up ‘the quiet one’. I was shy, not confident of my own worth or talents (even though I excelled in every area at school). I often felt left out and a ‘hanger-on’. Into my adult years, there were times I felt misunderstood and unappreciated, especially by male leaders. This caused deep pain. I withdrew, feeling I had nothing worth offering. I desperately wanted others to take the time to get to know the real me. But I became who others said I was. I became what I thought others were thinking of me.

Then God stepped in!

He revealed an event from my childhood, an incident completely forgotten. He showed me the pattern it had set in place, a pattern of my feeling misunderstood, labelled and unappreciated, especially by male authority figures.

I’ll take you to my primary school classroom and show you how it all began:

‘Who wrote this?’ my teacher demanded, anger and disbelief filling his voice. My friend looked around, then turned her eyes on me.

‘Joanna,’ she said. 

*** 

I was nine years old. I loved school and especially my new teacher, Mr Stanwell. He was the first male teacher I’d ever had, and he was lots of fun. That morning we had free time in class, and I was making a folded paper-thingy – my daughter tells me it’s called a chatterbox – you know, the origami-style folded paper with flaps, where you ask someone to choose a colour, then a number, and open and close the flaps accordingly, till you end up with a witty comment like ‘You stink!’ or ‘You love Tommy Biggs!’ Lots of amusement for nine-year-old girls! I’d written something in every space but one, and was stuck for another idea.

‘What shall I write?’ I asked my friends. Lara came up with an idea.

‘_____ ____!’ she suggested.

I wrote it down. It was a phrase I’d never heard before. I was a good shy Christian girl with no idea it was one of the most offensive things you could ever say to someone.

We had fun playing with my folded chatterbox. A friend asked if she could do it on our teacher. ‘Of course!’ I replied.

What are the chances?

One-in-eight, actually.

Mr Stanwell chose a colour: open – close – open – close – open – close – open. Mr Stanwell chose a number: open – close – open – close – open. Mr Stanwell chose a flap. My friend opened it up, and read out loud, ‘_____ ____!’

***

Mr Stanwell said nothing more about it in class that morning. At lunch time, he called me in from the playground. I remember standing awkwardly with him in the school corridor as he launched into his diatribe: ‘I don’t care if you use that kind of language at home! I don’t care if you use that kind of language on the street! But don’t you ever use that kind of language in my classroom! Do you understand?’ All I could do was give a small nod as he dismissed me back into the playground.

I didn’t tell anyone what had happened.

Over the following months, Mr Stanwell organised lots of fun projects and activities for our class. He appointed students to positions of responsibility – class monitors, library helpers, and playground helpers. I longed to be chosen for something special. My friends were chosen. But Mr Stanwell did not choose me. It hurt.

The years passed. I grew. I forgot. I didn’t think about it again.

(An excerpt from the introduction of my book Forever Loved: Eve’s Story)

Accused. Misunderstood. Not given a chance.

Though I didn’t know it at the time, or until quite recently, that one event began my always longing to be understood, my always longing to be affirmed and valued. It triggered my longing for someone, especially a male leader, to take the time to know the real me (which I know now wasn’t an appropriate longing).

God ministered deep healing and release to me, as He reminded me of this classroom incident. I forgave my teacher and others I’d been hurt by. I felt God come close as Father, and pour His love out on me.

My ongoing journey is one of discovering my true identity as God’s precious daughter – valued, appreciated, truly known for who I am. I am learning to turn to God for affirmation and acceptance, and not to man.

God has revealed Himself to me as Father most amazingly through the biblical story of Eve. Eve is, perhaps, the most labelled, most accused, most misunderstood woman of all time. Yes, she sinned (as we all do), but she was also God’s precious daughter, the one He loved unconditionally, the one He walked and talked with, the one He sought out, cherished, rescued and redeemed.

My new book Forever Loved: Eve’s Story is the story of Father and daughter, as told by Eve. It is a revelation of God’s love for Eve. It is a revelation of God’s love for us, as women. My prayer, through the book, is for women around the world to encounter God as Father, whether for the first time, or in deeper measure.

Let me pray that for you too, right now. (If you’re a man, you’re just as loved – God’s amazing son! You’ll need to change some words in the prayer, but receive it as your own.):

Dear God,

Thank you for the precious woman reading this. Overwhelm her with your love and presence. Take her deeper into you. Reveal yourself as Father. Pour out on her. Thank you, she is beautiful, she is accepted, she is cherished. Bring healing to areas of hurt. Reveal, and gently remove, masks that have been put in place. Bring her into the freedom of who she really is in you. Thank you for the amazing future you have for her, as your treasured daughter!

In Jesus’ name. Amen

May you experience a fresh touch of God today. Bless you!

(And thank you so much Claire for letting me share as part of your Unmasked series.)

Joanna xx

I’d love to give you an Eve Devotional I’ve written (which includes excerpts from ‘Forever Loved: Eve’s Story’). You can get it for free here: 3 Things You Never Knew About Eve: A Devotional Study

 

Joanna Chee gets excited about God! She loves to write, and is often awake in the night with a million ideas for her next book or project. Joanna blogs at JoannaMayChee.com and MumsKidsJesus.com, where it is her heart to encourage and equip women to love their families and meet with God. She is author of Forever Loved: Eve’s Story, a creative retelling of the Bible story of Eve, and a #1 Amazon UK bestseller. Connect with Joanna: Facebook.com/JoannaMayChee | Facebook.com/MumsKidsJesus | Pinterest.co.uk/MumsKidsJesus

 

The spotlight

‘Authenticity involves transparency, which only happens through vulnerability.’ That is a quote from fellow author Jen Baker, who I am delighted to welcome onto the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog series today.

As a child, I rarely left the bedroom without my (metaphorical) mask securely affixed to my face. Acting as the lead character in my own performance, I could switch between timidity and boldness at a moment’s notice – my personality dependent on the atmosphere of the others present. Terrified of being known, wearing a mask was the only way I knew to interact with the world around me.

The road to authenticity in my life took many turns, several detours and more than one ‘about face’ – thankfully stepping away from the path of self-destruction before I found myself tumbling over a cliff of no return.

I have a feeling some of you reading this can relate.

Perhaps you have worn a mask which said ‘I’m fine’, when in reality you were crying yourself to sleep at night.

Or a mask which declared ‘I trust the Lord’, when in reality you were self-medicating out of worry and despair.

Please don’t beat yourself up if you’ve been there (or are there) – we all have worn masks and spoken self-protective untruths at one time or another.

Yet I have learned that being fully known by the one who knows all things – is the most freeing, beautiful and empowering choice we can make in life. When we allow ourselves to be fully known in heaven, we free ourselves to live fully here on earth.

Below is an excerpt from my new book, The Power of a Promise, where I share the moment I felt the seed of purpose being planted deep within the soil of my heart. As a young person living in a world of self-imposed hypocrisy, it remains one of the most transparent – and honest – moments of my life.

It was a moment I’ll never forget.

Before I continue, it is important to mention that while growing up (and until my late thirties) I battled intense insecurity and fear – I mean, intense. Hiding behind my mother, refusing to hold eye contact, face turning bright red when anyone spoke to me, terrified to speak in class and always believing that I was being laughed at behind my back. I lived in a continual state of shame, fear and anxiety. It improved slightly after I became a Christian, but in reality I learned to cope with it, work around it or – most often – put a mask over it.

Despite my debilitating insecurity, I loved the stage. When I stepped onto a platform I came alive, because I could be anyone except Jen Baker – which was the greatest desire of my heart for the first twenty-five years of my life. This particular evening we were rehearsing our high-school play The Mousetrap, in which I had the lead female role. It was late, the school had closed hours before, and nearly everyone except the janitor had left the building. I had stayed behind to practise some lines, and that is when it happened.

The director stepped out of the auditorium, and I was preparing to leave when I glanced up to see a small circular spotlight at centre stage. It was just wide enough for one person to be seen. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Looking around to make sure nobody else was watching, I put my things down and rushed to the platform. I carefully, methodically, made my way to the centre of that light where I stood – just me, the spotlight and my imagined audience.

Time stood still. I wasn’t yet a Christian, but I felt something divine over that moment, to the point where I literally could not move. I looked out to the ‘audience’, took command of the atmosphere…and I decided right then and there: this was my destiny.

The seed took root.

Let me say again: We can only fully live our purpose when we freely know our creator. Over the ensuing years, as my relationship with my Saviour deepened, the masks slowly came down and my purpose gradually came forth.

It says in Ephesians 2:10 “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” We have been created to do good works, which God has already prepared for us. He has given us every gift we need, to carry out every plan He has. As every woman carries the seed of new life in her body, even as a little girl, so we come into the world with the seeds of our purpose simply waiting to be born.

If God were to put a spotlight on the centre of your dreams – what would He find? Where would you be standing? Remember, the Word says that God only has good gifts for us and where He leads is always toward peace and prosperity. He is a good God who is trustworthy and who always has our best future in the plans of His heart.

My prayer is that today you can believe again for the promises over your life to become alive with power, infused with purpose and unleashed in possibility.

No more hiding. No more shame. No more masks.

Instead, standing vulnerable within the security of God’s love and grace, you will step boldly into the spotlight of your future.

Jen Baker is a speaker, author and leader who loves seeing the Holy Spirit and the Word change lives and impact nations. Called from America to live in England, Jen has been a pastor, director and consultant working with the local church and several anti-trafficking charities. She has written five books, including her newly released The Power of a Promise, which can be ordered on her website at jenbaker.co.uk.

 

 

Good and messy

I am delighted to welcome American author Allison Allen to the Unmasked series today. She has written Shine: Stepping into the role you were made for, which I read recently and thoroughly recommend.

It was a hot mess. And for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why.

I am speaking about my front porch.

Every morning I opened my home’s door to find it strewn with various bits of detritus. Chunks of styrofoam. Bits of netting. Straggle-y sticks and stalks. By the end of the day said trash would disappear, which I chalked up to a good, stiff breeze.

This mystery continued for several days until, finally, it dawned upon my toddler-addled brain to look up.

And there it was – the beginnings of a nest.

A. Really. Ugly. Nest.

Precariously perched in a small corner a mama bird was hard at work building a place to have her young. Her progress was not what one might call pristine or promising. Certainly not pretty. But she did not stop, and, eventually, she made something of a topsy-turvy home in which to lay her eggs.

I wondered what would cause a bird to build upon such a small, hidden eave, when anywhere else would have taken so much less work. Our front yard is full of perfectly good trees, ready-made for nest-building. However, I also saw that our neighborhood was full of mockingbirds, those aggressive birds that will dive-bomb the head of anything human, avian, or otherwise. This robin-mama wasn’t looking for pretty or easy. She was looking for protected, sturdy, safe. She was looking for close and hidden. And she was willing to do the awkward, messy work of creating that kind of home for her chicks.

All this reminds me of Psalm 84:3, where the writer cries out:

Even the sparrow has found a home – and the swallow a nest for herself – where she may have her young. A place near your altar, Lord Almighty, my King and my God.

It strikes me that the bird (and the psalmist who wants to be like the bird) is desperate to build a nest near God’s altar. Close. Tucked in. Intimate.

And it amazes me that Psalm 84 says God welcomes the messy process of his people (like birds) bringing the bits and pieces of who they are, strewing the altar with the trash, because, well, because He’d rather have us messy and close, than pristine and far away.

Intimacy, like nest-building, is messy.

But it is so well worth the mess.

Especially when what you end up with is a nesting place nearer to God than you could have ever imagined.

I’ve never wanted to be more bird-brained in all my life.

 

Allison is a graduate of the prestigious Carnegie Mellon University and appeared in 650 performances of the Broadway production of Grease. A former Women of Faith dramatist and current Bible teacher, she speaks to women at conferences and retreats around the country, exploring themes of purpose, value and identity in original and unexpected ways.

 

Her book, Shine, Allison looks at how actors aren’t the only ones who play roles – all of us do, nearly all of the time. Using her own personal stories she calls readers to drop the brave act and step into the role we were each made for – being our true selves in Christ.

 

Poignant poem for Mothers’ Day

Georgina (left) and her sister Bec

I read this post on Georgina’s own website and asked her whether it would be okay to include it as this week’s Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog. She is so honest, so raw and vulnerable, and I know this will speak to many for whom Mothers’ Day is bitter-sweet.

I have found Mothers’ Day hard before, trying to hold in tension my gratitude for the beautiful children I have and my sadness for the one I didn’t get to keep.  It is a day countless others find hard too.

This year feels like a whole new level of struggle is looming as I must face yet another difficult day, where my raw emotions will be dragged to the surface and shaken and beaten just a little more. It is six months since my sister passed away; Mothers’ Day without her is another hard ‘first’.  This time last year we had no idea our worlds were about to implode.  She was diagnosed a week later.  Writing this poem has helped me to face it better.  It is not a cry for pity or a judgment on those celebrating – just a pure reflection of my thoughts and emotions as I continue to walk this road of grief.  I hope it will make fellow strugglers feel less alone.

Mothers’ Day  

Last year, 
My sister took the early slot, 
Taking flowers and chocolates to Mum,
Mid afternoon,
Chatting casually 
Over coffee,
A Mothers’ Day like any other.
Her words scrawled in the card,
One of many down the years,
A relic now.
I went later,
With a now-forgotten gift,
For a glass of wine
and child-free conversation,
A luxury.

This year it’s just me.
I can never be enough,
Feel enough, write enough,
Say enough, do enough,
To plug the gaping hole now left,
One we hadn’t even seen coming then,
That ordinary Mothers’ Day last year.

Mothers’ Day looms.
I’ve survived it before,
The times it has threatened to suffocate me,
As a Mother, minus a child,
Taken too soon.
I’ve learned to live with that.

This time round I have a Mother and a child – two, in fact.
But Mothers’ Day threatens to swallow me whole in a different way,
As I face my own Mother,
With one child less and a pain 
No gift from me can dull.

And it threatens to swallow me whole 
When my niece crawls onto my lap 
Motherless,
Adapting, adjusting,
But with parts missing that will never be whole.
I cry as I imagine her,
Surrounded by classmates,
Gluing tissue paper to make-shift bouquets,
Wondering in her six-year old way 
If Mummy still sees,
Somewhere out beyond the stars.

Mothers’ Day.
I’ve learned to live with the pain
And the kick-in-the-teeth, 
It doles out, once a year,
Learned to count up the blessings as well as the cost.
Countless armies of others join me,
Teeth gritted through Facebook outpourings.
I’m not on my own.

But this year, 
Is harder than ever.
I lock my hands for the ride,
in the tightest of grips
As the Mothers’ Day rollercoaster plummets again,
Wondering if anyone will hear my screams.

“Ouch, that hurts!”

After a break for half term, and then enforced rest due to flu, I am finally getting back to posting the usual Friday blog – Unmasked: stories of authenticity. I am delighted to welcome Annmarie Miles onto it this week. (NB Do please get in touch if you have your own story that you would like to share – the entries are slowing down so this blog series may become monthly from now on…)

I remember clearly the moment I first read that Richard Branson quote:

“If somebody offers you an amazing opportunity but you are not sure you can do it, say yes – then learn how to do it later!”

It was around the time that I started writing, and I was looking for permission to go for it. Why I looked to Mr Branson, I’m not sure. But I read those words and I went for it. I was asked to speak at seminars, teach classes, lead groups, write for writing websites, you name it – I did it. I asked questions, got advice, learned as much as I could from as many as I could and took every opportunity that came my way. A lot of the time I was in panic mode, but I did as he said, learning as I went.

FAKING IT

I never stopped feeling like an imposter though. Richard Branson’s quote, though empowering, turned out, for me, to be little more than, ‘fake it til you make it’. Problem is, I never made it. I always felt I was revving in the neutral of pretend mode. I moved from Ireland to the UK, losing all tangible contacts and opportunities (online connections are great, but it was not the same). I never really got going again. Surely if I’d made it, I’d have been snapped up, discovered, heard of even…?

On reflection (of which there has been much), I am soothed by God’s process of taking those who make themselves ‘available’ and making them ‘able’. From day one I applied the verse in Psalm 127 to my writing – unless the Lord builds the house… So when opportunities dried up I accepted it, but made the error of believing that I had dried up.

CONFESSING MY SECRET FEAR

At the Association of Christian Writers’ day in London last year, I confessed it out loud; the secret fear. What if I’m just no good at writing? What if my fears are grounded, and I just don’t cut the mustard!? I was grateful for the encouragement and the gentle slap on the wrist I got in response. In short it was basically: if you believe God has given you something to say, then go say it. When Moses complained to God in Exodus 3 that he was no good with words, God said, ‘Now go! I will be with you as you speak, and I will instruct you in what to say.’

I left the event with those words ringing in my ear and, in response to that, I spent November working on the first draft of the most painful thing I’ve ever written. An exploration of the how and why I ended up weighing nearly 24 stone. I believe it’s something God wanted me to explore in my writing, but there were no lies allowed. No little deceptions, no excuses, no plaumausing (as we say in Ireland). It had to be honest, or what would be the point.

TAKING THE RISK

So I wrote it. With many tears I raked though painful memories and regrets, I fought the urge to wallpaper over the ugly stuff and just poured it all out. By the end of it I felt like I’d been skinned. I was raw, embarrassed, ashamed, afraid and relieved. It reminded me of reading about Eustace in C.S. Lewis’ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, when he had been turned into a dragon, and only Aslan could remove the tough dragon skin. Eustace describes how the pain of removal was worse than any pain he had ever felt, but that the relief and freedom from the dragon skin made it bearable. I could relate to that.

The truth is, authenticity is a huge risk. The scaly skin might be ugly and uncomfortable but taking it off hurts, a lot. And when it’s gone, all that’s left is…well…me. I’ll be honest, I’m still not sure I’m ready for that. The manuscript however will soon be in the hands of an editor. No more cover ups.

My consolation, my soothing balm, is that it is honest. It’s as real as I am. If it helps one person, it will have done its work.

I dare to wonder what it will achieve and where it might take me.

I may not make it – but I sure as heaven didn’t fake it.

Annmarie Miles is from Dublin, Ireland. She lives with her husband Richard who is a pastor in the Eastern Valley of Gwent, in South Wales. She writes short stories, magazine articles, devotional pieces for Christian radio, and blogs about her faith at www.auntyamo.com

 

Out of the chrysalis

I am thrilled to welcome Tracy Williamson to the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog today. She has written with such candour and bravery – I’m sure it will bless everyone who reads it. Thank you Tracy.

Many of us hide our weaker areas behind a mask of self-sufficiency, serving others or being the joker of the group. We bury our weaknesses behind this capable, strong persona, the only part we allow others to see.

But what if our mask is the weakness and the beauty of what God created us to be is what is hidden? Can we really let that mask be removed or even believe there is anything else to discover?

I know this is possible because for the last 35 years God’s love has been releasing the real Tracy from behind her mask of fear and shame.

CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

My journey began when I was two and became ill with encephalitis and was in hospital for several months. My balance and co-ordination were badly affected but no one realised that my vision and hearing were also damaged. A child with hearing problems is usually diagnosed when they fail to hear the sounds around them or respond to their family’s voices. I did hear all those things but no one realised that I couldn’t understand what I heard because of brain damage. The effects were devastating for when I started school; instead of being given support as a deaf child, I was judged mentally impaired and treated accordingly by both the children and staff.

When I was 12 I was finally diagnosed as hard of hearing (I am now severely deaf) and given hearing aids. Ironically hearing aids are useless for someone with sensory neural deafness and simply became another focus for the bullies.

Anyone who has hidden in the playground trying to avoid gangs of children chanting names – in my case: spastic, mental, deaf ears – will know that sickening feeling of shame and fear that becomes your identity and the writhing feeling inside when teachers call you up to the front and tear strips off you in front of the class. I didn’t know I was deaf so I believed I was stupid as everyone said. And even when my deafness was diagnosed I’d spent so many years believing a lie, it had become who I was.

My dad died when I was seven and, soon after, my mum met my stepfather. He abused me verbally and sexually, compounding all that was happening at school. You only have to hear negative words a few times before you believe them, and he was shouting daily that I was rubbish, mental, perverted, unlovable….

My shame at his actions went deep and, as I hit adolescence, I hated and crushed my budding femininity. My sister, cousins and friends were developing relationships and social lives but I was hiding behind books, stick thin in baggy trousers and t-shirts.

Who was Tracy? The shame and fear mask was all I had to show people as I didn’t even know there was a beautiful, God-created Tracy, trapped inside.

But God loved me and despite me knowing nothing about faith, drew me to believe in Him during my first year of college. And so began my journey of unmasking and healing.

BEGINNING TO EMERGE

Who was Tracy? Step by step through prayer, love, affirmation, the care of church friends, reading the Bible…God’s power and love began to heal me. I had always loved reading but books had been my escape. What I didn’t know was that God had given me a love of words and the ability to be expressive through speaking and writing. I had hardly ever dared share an opinion as it was bound to be ridiculed, yet God’s healing love has, over the years, set me more and more free

I had ministry from committed friends who spoke His words of truth over me that I was beautiful, chosen, created and uniquely gifted by God – a beloved woman and daughter not a thing to be used and destroyed. As they prayed and loved me I began to emerge, to dare to dress prettily, to speak, to laugh and to love others.

One of the most amazing ways that God taught me to drop my mask was through listening for His voice. His word is more powerful than anything else we can ever hear and sets us free from deep within. One day as I walked to college and was feeling very anxious, I sensed I should stop and look around me and listen. I was in a beautiful location with fields and trees spreading out before me.

He whispered into my heart:

‘I made all this so you could know what I am like, but none of this is as beautiful to me as you are.’

I was stunned! It was my first experience of hearing Him and it shattered the lie that I was ugly and shameful. Step by step I began to come out of my chrysalis and discover that I could be feminine without fear and didn’t have to live as an apology but rather, as a blessing.

After college God called me to work in an itinerant ministry with the blind Gospel singer Marilyn Baker and so I went from hardly daring to speak to sharing my testimony, giving prophecies, teaching in conferences and writing.

BEING A BUTTERFLY

My disabilities had been such a source of mockery that it would never occur to me to ask for help. But through working with Marilyn, and through the muddles that inevitably occur with one of us blind and the other deaf and partially sighted, God showed me that it is okay to have a weakness. It is part of me but doesn’t define me and I actually bless others when I admit I can’t do certain things and that I need their assistance.

Now I happily tell people I am deaf and trust they will try to help me, which 90 per cent of the time they do– and if they don’t respond well it’s their problem not mine!. Friends, especially Marilyn, always type on my iPad what is being said in church or in social times and tell me they love to do it – and we all have a laugh over my hearing mistakes! I rejoice in having a Hearing Dog, Goldie (see photo) whose jacket proudly asserts that he is helping a deaf person. He alerts me to sounds I can’t identify but his special gift is simply connecting me to people in streets and shops that normally I would be cut off from. And I now chat with them without fear that being deaf makes me less.

I am still a work in progress but I know that this butterfly is emerging from her chrysalis, for no mask of fear or shame is as powerful as God’s love.

Tracy Williamson lives near Tonbridge in Kent with her friend and partner in ministry Marilyn Baker, together with Tracy’s Hearing Dog, Goldie, and Marilyn’s Guide Dog, Saffie.

Tracy wrote her first book The Voice of the Father (Hodder) in 1995, followed by four shorter books published by New Wine Press between 2004 and 2008. Tracy has recently completed her sixth book, called The Father’s Kiss, which will be published by Authentic Media in October 2018.

Today Tracy and Marilyn still travel the country and sometimes abroad taking concerts and church services and also leading Rest and Renewal days and conferences on Intimacy with God. See www.mbm-ministries.org