In his 1968 essay, “A Native Hill”, American author, poet and farmer, Wendell Berry, writes of how the early pioneers began patterns of destruction and violence to the countryside, the scars of which his homeland of Virginia still bears today. He talks of how the desire for progress meant roads from A to B were carved out, straight through ancient forests. Trees were ripped up, boulders displaced, hills sliced apart, and rivers dammed all in the name of efficiency. Let’s get where we think we need to be as quick as we possibly can, was the prevailing mentality. He contrasts this with the approach of the native people for 1000’s of years before. They viewed the land with reverence and awe. Roads were not dug out but, instead, paths were navigated through the landscape. Trees were not seen as obstacles to be removed but marks of character and beauty to be respected and traversed. Sure, the journeys on ancient paths were considerably slower than on modern roads but at what cost, both to the land and to the human soul?

As I read his words the other week, I couldn’t help but sense that the earth around us isn’t the only thing we do tremendous violence to in the name of progress. I began to think about my own journey, my own maturing. How I am predisposed, or maybe preconditioned, to assess where I am (point A), look to where I think I really need, or ought, to be (point B) and connect the dots with the shortest of lines. Whether I’m thinking about financial stability, relational connectivity, emotional well-being or spiritual maturity the process ends up the same. I’m so used to viewing my weaknesses, my faults and failures, my fears and seemingly negative emotions as obstacles that need removed in the name of growth. But as I sat with Mr Berry, as I felt his grief at the lost and damaged landscape I felt a nudge to my own spirit. A gnawing thought beginning the slow process of ferment, “what violence am I doing to the unique and beautiful landscape of my life in my attempts at progress?”

What if all those things I see as obstacles, as weaknesses and faults are actually the very things that make me, me? What if my fears and anxieties don’t need ripped up but instead need acknowledged and navigated around? What if doubt and uncertainty, acknowledged, understood, reasoned through and discussed became a reference point, a notable mark of beauty in my story? My default is to push down doubt, to deny its existence, to steam roll over uncertainty and march (pseudo-)boldly forward but I can’t help but think, now, of the violence that must do to my soul. How that begins to destroy the uniqueness of who I am, how I’ve been made to be. Paul writes in his first letter to the Corinthians how God has chosen the foolish things of this world to shame the wise and the weak things of this world to shame the strong. What if the very feelings and faults that we’re so desperate to deny are the very place God wants to meet us? The very things that reveal the truth and beauty of how he actually sees us.

For me the process of being on lockdown has brought such a swirl of thoughts and emotions. I flit from calm and composed to overwhelmed and insecure on at least a weekly (if not daily) basis and a podcast conversation from a good friend this week helped me put some language to that roller coaster. Suhail shared his own journey in this time; of how he found himself feeling shame pile on top of anxiety and fear. Shame at not feeling calm and composed or hopeful and in control. Shame at missing some perceived mark or standard that others were seemingly hitting.

“…senses of what [we] should or ought [feel] piling on top of what actually is.”

That shame tempts us to steamroll over the honest state of our hearts and in doing so we miss the chance to meet with Jesus there. My challenge, my invitation, to myself in this season is to stop trying to be ok or put together or whatever other thing I imagine I’m supposed to be. To stop trying to carve the quickest path to so called “good Christian” and instead to allow myself to be aware of how I’m truly feeling. To attempt to be present to my emotions, good and bad, and rather than trying to uproot them or deny them, to look for the beauty in them. To see if maybe, just maybe, Jesus knew what he was doing when he designed and made me. To see if he might be there waiting for me in my weakness not with judgement or with shame but with an invitation. An invitation to not bulldoze a road through my soul but to instead seek out a path with him through it, enjoying the journey and seeing the strength in the whole of who I am.

Suhail Stephen – Dealing with fear, disappointment and shame

Photo by roya ann miller on Unsplash