The weekend the protests began, all I wanted to do was make plans-lots of them-to distract myself from the noise of the world and let’s be honest, being alone and over-thinking on this insidious evil that has no easy answers.
I didn’t have my little one to care for, she was with her dad, so I had the luxury of time. But something kept telling me not to fill my schedule and to embrace the alone. To lean into the pain of our country and the mounting tension in my own heart.
So I tried to re-frame it positively, “it’s like a spiritual retreat for your soul, Sam.”
Whatever…it sounded daunting.
And so it begins…I wake up at 4:00am and grab my pile of books and Bible.
This weekend my focus is on shame. Shame within me and shame within us all. I watch the news and I feel shame for being white. If I protest I feel like a traitor to the quarantine. I feel scared and sad for all those diminished by racism AND all the good cops diminished by police brutality. I sense there is some unspoken litmus test on social media regarding all this. If you don’t say something you are bad. But what if you get it wrong? Then you are bad too. I want to put my flag on my patio and tell everyone to just be kind and get along but I’m scared to put my flag on the patio because I read online that people are targeting homes in Ladera with flags. It’s like a shame fear fest multilplied 10x by CNN.
Shame is always there lurking in the corners and stalking us. And it’s something that keeps coming up and festering in my heart.
I was out with a new friend the other day and they were asking me hard relational questions that I didn’t really want to answer. Inadvertently, they struck my shame wound and I emotionally shut down. The silence was painful.
All of a sudden this tidal wave of yuck rolled over me and tossed me into a place of heart racing mini-panic. I felt like I was back in 4th grade pummeled off my boogie board by the pounding surf in HB—so disoriented I didn’t know which end was ass up.
In that terrible awful moment my body tensed up and I wanted to vomit. Fortunately, I was at least self-aware enough to know that the revulsion was a shame spiral and not the taco.
I knew I needed to get to the root of it. So this weekend was a search and destroy type of journey. My plan was come back with only half the stuff I started out with.
Around 8:00am, after consuming two large cups of coffee, I head out for a hike armed with a 90 minute podcast on shame. Right before I leave, I pray for God to speak to me on this journey.
When I round the corner after crossing Antonio, this tree stops me dead in my tracks.
It’s like an “atta girl” someone left just for me. Seriously? Thank you Lord.
As I walk I listen to the podcast.
And I get unraveled.
Oh my goodness y’all… if you listen to anything, listen to this. It’s long and it takes a bit to get into but then it hits like a mack truck. I can’t tell you how much this impacted me. I literally burst into tears on a sidewalk in Ladera and bawled for about thirty minutes thinking about the deep and relentless love of Christ dying for the shame I cling to like an old baby blanket. Here’s the link…
Dr. Curt Thompson-On the Enneagram and Shame
Ephipany #1-Surrender the Shame to the only one able to destroy it
Only Jesus is capable of bearing the weight of my shame. He is the only one who offers us freedom from racial divide, injustice, white privilege, prejudice and the sins of our own hearts and our fathers. Only he can bear this burden. It’s too much for any of us on our own. We weren’t made to carry a collective pain like this. Like Pastor Mark Francey says, “sheep aren’t pack animals.” And yes…we are the sheep in this metaphor.
I spend the afternoon listening to music, reading more and reflecting. Eventually my eyes get heavy and my tired body rests and falls in and out of dreams. I almost never nap because I can rarely turn my brain off, but today is different. My soul is at peace. Sometimes a good cry is like fixing a clogged pipe. Once it’s cleared out, clear water flows through again. But boy was I exhausted from the spiritual roto-rooter.
I wake suddenly at 5:30pm on the nose and feel like I’m supposed to go down to the Dana Point Harbor, Its like Harry Potter with his liquid luck. I just know “it’s the place to be” but I have no idea why? The feeling is so strong though I can’t resist. So I grab my headphones and head out. What’s a few more miles?
The beach is glorious in the waning sun. It’s warm and the unmasked folks are smiling which feels like melted butter to my heart. The pandemic stole our smiles and I’m on a mission to find them.
I decide to do something a little wild so I tentatively hit the classic rock playlist. I know, that sounds mildly lame, but I’ve always played it safe with music. But not today.
The first song that comes on is “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen and I can’t stop my huge spit eating grin. AC DC is next, then Journey. I think classic rock suits me. If the boardwalk was a catwalk I rocked it. I don’t know what God was doing to me and in me but I felt like a badass bursting with joy.
As I headed back, a new boat caught my eye. I’ve walked this harbor a million times and never seen it. It was called “Darling Girl.” and I just about fell over, because when I write letters to myself from God they all start with…”Darling Girl.” It’s our thing.
Ephipany #2: God will go to the end of the earth to fight for my heart.
The intentional relentless pursuit of God never ceases to astound me. How the God of the Universe shows me one sign after the next in a world raging with pandemics, social distancing, protests, rioting and unrest, I truly don’t know? And yet, God takes the time to reveal to me how much he cherishes me with a sign and a boat and the sweetest nap hugs.
I turned off my phone Saturday night. I buried myself in my journal and prayers and fell asleep with a delicious solace that ran deep into my core.
Sunday morning I woke to the news that my son who lives in Reno and attends the University of Nevada was on lockdown in his downtown home on curfew while a crowd rioted a few blocks away. They looted the courthouse, businesses and the police station, threw rocks, smashed windows and lit a car on fire. Kyle was relieved he had brought his flag into wash because they were lighting them all on fire up and down the street.
My first instinct was to apologize profusely for not calling and texting and then I thought twice. Yes, I missed out on hyperventilating and watching the news and blowing up his phone, but it’s only because I didn’t know. Maybe I was exactly where I needed to be?
In all truth, I probably helped him more on my knees pleading for his protection than helicopter momming it anyway. I’m ten hours away from Reno, and he can certainly rescue himself.
Epiphany 3: Surrender mama. The King is on the throne.
Sunday was glorious, I spent the day working out, listening to church online and burrowed in my books again.
And I was never so glad to be alone. It was a holy water on my skin weekend where I let go of things holding me back from having an open heart. While I certainly don’t have any more answers to the weight of the world than I did before…I’ve at the very least stopped trying to carry them.
And even if my protests are in the spiritual realm I know God hears them and sees his people groan.
The alone was nothing to fear. The alone embraced me.
If I’d made plans to distract myself I would have missed out on the sweet gifts of tenderness displayed for me and what my friend Emmy calls “God winks.”
Doing the work of healing shame both personally and collectively is messy and deep and it takes hard work. It takes loving your neighbor as you love yourself.
But this means we actually have to love ourselves. Letting go of shame is as much about loving me as it is releasing me to love. Because when I do this well I can better love my neighbor.
Love is the enemy of shame. And love unravels us.
“Nothing can make our lives, or the lives of other people more beautiful than perpetual kindness.” —Tolstoy
When was the last time you retreated from the chaos and got quiet enough to listen?
