Shields Up!

Lately, Sunday mornings destroy me. I don't know what it is exactly, but I'll be mostly fine all week and then as soon as I wake up on Sunday, I'm completely overwhelmed. All of my fears, discouragement, anger, and disappointment come to the surface and I can't hold it back. I start crying long before I even get to church. For the last two weeks, I've been hesitant to even go to church because I know it will only get worse. And I've been right. Last week, I spent the entire service with my head in my hands, my eyes leaking uncontrollably, for no good reason. This week, I worked very hard to stop the tears before we even walked into the building, but to no avail. Both weeks, the messages were spot-on, were encouraging and uplifting, and exactly what I needed to hear. But still, I couldn't stop crying.

And both weeks, an outpouring of compassion from women I hardly know has been shown to me. Last week, in the offer of a hug. This week, a woman I have only spoken to once or twice came over and said, "I don't know what you're broken about, but I have seen it the last few weeks and I just wanted to let you know that I'm praying for you." 

First off, let me just say, I go to an amazing church. The kind of church where people do reach out and help, even if you're a stranger sitting in the next pew over. The kind of church where women you hardly know from your Bible Study class throw you a surprise baby shower when your husband is in the hospital, to cheer you up. The kind of church where phone numbers are written down to call during your husband's surgery, because people truly want to know how everything is going - even if they've only met you both in passing. The kind of church where prayers are offered freely, where transgressions are quickly forgiven, and where love is poured out to anyone who needs it.

As in the case above. I have been feeling "broken." And I love that people from this church family are reaching out to me. I think there would be nothing better than to sit down with someone and just talk it all out - the fear, the discouragement, the unknown. But instead, when these women offer to console me or pray for me, I just smile and thank them. I make excuses about "pregnancy hormones."

I don't reach back.

I think that sharing your burdens with someone who cares is a lot like kissing, as described in the movie Hitch. "You come 90, I come 10." Okay, maybe kissing is a bad comparison for this, but the practice is the same. These women are coming 90% of the way to meet me where I am broken. They are seeking me out. All I need to do is go the other 10%, share a little, open up a bit, and I know they would be willing to commit to helping me in any way possible. And yet, I don't do it. Why??? In a loving, supportive, non-judgmental environment, where wisdom and faith abound, why can't I open up just a small amount to share the cause of my burden with others?

I think, in general, we have two opposing practices for sharing pain and burdens. One is, apparently, the way I have chosen: to close up and put up the shields. Don't share anything, because it will be passing your burden onto others. (I'm sure other people might have other reasons, such as not feeling secure sharing personal details with people they don't know very well, but that is not an issue for me with these women.) The other, completely opposite method is to share everything. Literally, everything. Thanks to Facebook and other social media, we are now free to share every moment of discomfort and annoyance. We are more public than ever before. Want someone to talk to? Simply post a vague status stating, "Really angry right now," or "This really sucks," and dozens of "friends" will start inquiring as to the reason. You can share everything! Have a fight with a loved one? We can tell the world every nitty gritty detail. Feel mistreated at work? We can share that news with all of our friends (and their friends, and their friends, and their friends...)

And yet, between these two methods of coping with difficult times, it is impossible to find satisfaction. Why? Because we are called to fellowship with others. We are called to share our life experiences with a community. I've written before the benefits of having strong relationships with other women, and I guess this is just an extension of that idea. For the record, I have many supportive people in my life - both friends and family - who would also be willing to sit down with me and listen to my cares and worries. And I have these loving women at church who would do the same thing. But still I refuse to take that step into the community, to share openly why I'm a crying mess every Sunday morning. Instead, I become embarrassed by my public display and want to hide out in the back row.

Thinking about it, there are several reasons why I might not be willing to share. Besides not wanting to cast a burden upon someone else, I think I also feel like my concerns aren't quite the big deal I'm making them out to be. People have suffered tremendous losses, experienced unbelievable pain, and I'm crying because I'm anxious about the future. It doesn't quite seem as important as some of the other things going on in our church, and especially not as important as all of the things going in our world! Why should I waste the time of these women by sharing my silly concerns with them?

And, to be completely honest, these feelings have become a crutch. I am letting them define who I am, and if I share them with others then they might be taken away. And even though that's what I want more than anything else... I have also grown dependent on them. If I am not spending my emotional energy being worried about the future, what will I spend it on? (A rhetorical question, of course - a thousand ideas come to mind, and I think "if only I could get free of this so I can commit my spirit elsewhere," but instead I keep myself chained down.)

Today I listened to one of the best Easter sermons I've ever heard. It focused on a few people to whom Jesus appeared after His resurrection. Mainly, to Mary crying outside the tomb, to the two walking down the road Emmaus, and to the disciples who were fishing. Jesus came to them in their despair, discouragement, and feelings of failure and revealed Himself. But even though they saw Him, it took a while before they recognized Him. How true is that in our own lives? God is at work through all things, but we don't always recognize that. And when I think about the emotional place all those people were in when He returned to them, and how He went to each of them in their time of difficulty, it's an encouragement to know that He does the same for me. He sees me, He knows my concerns, and He's with me - regardless of how petty I feel my burdens are. Something that just occurred to me while I was writing: Jesus is revealing Himself to me through the compassion of these women at church. And I see Him, but I haven't been recognizing His invitation. He is working through them to let me know that I need to let go. I need to open up and just fall into His grace. Because my issues aren't petty, and they won't be a burden on these women, and they are just becoming a crutch for me to slip farther from God's love. In the gospel of John, when Jesus appears to Mary, he asks her, "Why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?" (John 20:15). Who are you seeking? What a powerful question. Because the truth is, God is always with us. No matter what we're going through, or how big or small it may seem, He is with us and He cares. And when we put our shields up and don't accept His invitation to share our burdens (with Him, or with others in fellowship that He has provided), we are missing one of the most vital lifelines that will ever be offered.