I'm Your Huckleberry

Lizard brain strikes again, taking off the invisible cloak, and trying out new roles.

Photo by the lovely and talented Natalie Marsh

For if anyone thinks he is something [special] when [in fact] he is nothing [special except in his own eyes], he deceives himself. But each one must carefully scrutinize his own work [examining his actions, attitudes, and behavior], and then he can have the personal satisfaction and inner joy of doing something commendable without comparing himself to another.

Galatians 6:3-4, AMP

Blame it on the brain

Welp, Liz (my brain) has been up to her old tricks again. Earlier this week, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t being productive enough. I was active daily, but all I could focus on were the things I hadn’t done yet on my mental to-do list. It’s a looong list.

Then I spoke with a friend and recounted the last few weeks’ goings on.

Turns out, Liz was being a sneaky punk. She knows I avoid talking myself up, even in the privacy of my own mind. For instance, when asked, “What are your strengths?” I come up with glowing responses like: “I’m … punctual.” Though timeliness is a positive, often appreciated trait, I know the question is meant to evoke more expansive personal qualities. I just can’t cough them up.

Somewhere along the way, vocalizing positive, true things about myself got harder. When presented with an opportunity, I wondered, Would that be boasting? If they don't agree, are they going to reprimand me? What if I make someone feel overshadowed? As one would expect, a myriad of hurdles played a hand in keeping my skills and talents on the down low for decades. I’ll name some of the deeply ingrained obstacles.

A couple of goading Bible verses.

“Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before stumbling.”¹ “Let another praise you, and not your own mouth; a stranger, and not your own lips.”²

These verses are not untrue — it’s just that my adolescent brain took them at face value without nuance. Young Emily boiled the translation down to: You’re not special, so don’t act like you are or you’re going to fall on your face.

Nowadays, as I develop a broader understanding of the Bible, I can look for where Scripture interprets Scripture and ask questions to better comprehend what the passage says about God and about me.

For instance, what does the Bible say about pride? What does a haughty spirit look like? What does the Bible have to say about praising of God? or man? How can I say positive or true things about myself with humility? — These explorations make the scriptures come alive, causing them feel less like platitudes and more like the words of life that they are.

One hurdle down.

A teacher’s careless indifference.

My fifth grade year started at a Christian school. I’d primarily been homeschooled up to that point so while I was ahead in some subjects, I wasn’t on track for Math. A little over a month into the semester, my mom picked me up early for an appointment and asked my teacher for a quick chat in the hallway. Mom acknowledged I was doing my best in Math and asked if there was anything the teacher could do to help me along. Her response: “I’m sorry; I don’t have time for slow students.”

I got hung up on those words well into my 30s.

A pastor’s unwarranted caution.

Right before I turned 15, my parents and I started attending a different church than the one I’d grown up in. After a Sunday evening service, the pastor walked over to introduce himself. After some pleasantries with my folks, he asked me a few questions about myself before solemnly telling me, “You will struggle with pride because you are mature for your age and you won’t fit into the regular crowd. And because you’re pretty, you will wrestle with sexual sins, so you will need to work extra hard to resist the schemes of the devil.”

To this day I know he spouted a third thing with a more positive spin, but I can’t remember because I was too busy taking his warnings to heart. I assumed he knew something I didn’t because he was a preacher. We all know what happens when we assume …

I’d wager most if not all of us can think of someone in the past whose words carried much more weight than they deserved. My fifth grade teacher knew me for a few weeks. The pastor had just met me. I wasn’t hearing those messages in my home, so what made their irresponsible comments take root?

Well, I was already feeling out of sorts in class, so the teacher’s words affirmed what I feared. I’m not smart. The pastor drew attention to my maturity and how I carried myself with more confidence than my peers. Though neither are negative traits, I was nervous about finding my people at this new church and he essentially called me a pariah temptress. Part of me wanted to hide; the other part wanted to prove him wrong, but that would be disrespectful, so …

For whatever reason, I opted to keep quiet or deflect when it came to my strengths. I figured the less space I took up made room for smarter, more important, truly humble people. I could “work heartily, as for the Lord rather than for men”³ behind the scenes and not draw too much attention.

You want me to hand out bulletins? Sign me up. Need me to welcome folks in and give directions? I’m your girl. Do you have to head out early? I’ll clean up; drive safe. I’ll fill the void and do whatever needs to be done with excellence — from teaching young minds to taking out the trash. Put me in, coach.

Out of hiding

Supporting roles really are my speed. I enjoy playing second fiddle. The expectations are far less than those placed on the main attraction. Kind of like giving the grandkids back to their parents at the end of an evening of babysitting. I like what I do, but all eyes are not constantly on me, thankfully.

I stayed in my comfortable bubble until my late 30s when the Lord began drawing me out. He had work for me to do, and it involved leaving my invisibility cloak at home. In typical God fashion, He’d been laying a foundation through the very catalysts that silenced me. What the enemy meant for evil, God used for good.

I listen more than I talk.

I observe before taking action.

Years of second fiddle practice afforded me a gift of discernment, enabling me to see beneath the surface — because that’s where I live. God taught me to look for life under the glassy veneer.

The Lord eased me in slowly, starting with taking a director position at my church. Administration? Organization? No big deal. Then some fellow Bible study ladies came to me for guidance. You want me to give you counsel for your life? I wanted to tell them, I’m a mess. You’ve got the wrong gal. Instead, I met with my colleague and pastor at the time to hand off the ladies in need to someone who knew what he was doing.

If the shoe fits

We sat outside a local coffee shop in Fairfax, VA and I tried to sound diplomatic, like I was making an exchange. I didn’t like the knowing smile on his face as he asked me what direction I’d given the ladies so far. I prattled off a 30,000 foot view of the situations and how I’d responded, then pushed for his advice in a way that pleaded, please take it from here.

He affirmed the care I’d extended, then he got a contemplative look on his face. He leaned forward in his chair with excitement and said, “Sis, I think the Lord is up to something. Would you ever consider becoming a counselor?” Without skipping a beat I said, “No.” He laughed and asked what made me so sure. I told him, “My story is messy. I don’t have any answers for people. And my mom’s a counselor. She has the capacity to hold people’s suffering. I’m barely treading water over here. I can’t foresee being able to carry other people’s pain without drowning.” He nodded with genuine understanding and gently said, “Just because your story is messy doesn’t mean the Lord can’t use you to minister to others. It actually makes you uniquely qualified to do so. There aren’t any polished stories in the Bible. The Lord gives us the capacity we need to do what He calls us to do. And He’s the One bringing about change in people’s lives. That part’s not on you. You’re just the instrument.”

Blast. Jerk. I took a long pause to repent for my resentment over how much sense he was making.

He must’ve seen my face soften because he continued, “Will you pray about it?” I tilted my head and glared at him. Knowing me well, he grinned and sped ahead before I could protest. “You don’t have to be an expert or a PhD to offer wise counsel. If that’s the path God has for you, then great; go for it. Do the degree; get licensed; wherever He leads. But will you just pray about pursuing some training? Just training…” Feeling less pressured but no less uneasy, I agree to pray about it, but told him not to get his hopes up. He smirked and said, “Too late; but we’ll pray and see what God has planned.”

A[new]venture awaits

My formal counseling training began a little over six years ago, and the journey hasn’t looked at all like I thought it would. I have a certification and am halfway through a master’s degree in counseling. However, I think my story has been the best instructor.

God is sovereign over my experiences, and I strive to retain the wisdom gained from those teachers. I no longer feel pressure to offer answers or have it all together. I trust that just as the Lord is the Shepherd of my path, He also directs the lives of everyone I come in contact with.

Taking all these things to heart, I did a soft launch of my private practice last week. It’s taken my whole life to get to this new beginning — and that’s okay. The slow road brought me here, and I am content to be a lifelong learner. God makes messes meaningful, and I get to pass along the same comfort He gave me in my times of need (2 Corinthians 1:3-10). Which is just one of the reasons I can agree with the Psalmist’s crazy claim:

It was good for me to be afflicted so that I could learn your statutes.

Psalm 119:71

The Lord is truly good and deserving of all glory, friends.

Now for the extraaaaaas

If you’ve read this far, kudos. For anyone wondering, Liz and I had a heart to heart and are back on good terms.

The tunes

This playlist offers a blend of lyrical and instrumental tracks. Slow down and contemplate. Cover image captured in the Shenandoah Valley.

The menu

I met a new friend last week who unknowingly inspired me to change up some things in my diet (more on that another time). I started my endeavor with a very reasonable detox that did not include starving myself while drinking a revolting concoction of cayenne pepper and maple syrup. It’s a thing. Don’t try it. My lunch three days in a row was this Green Detox Smoothie from Eating Bird Food (haha - love the name). It reminds me of the “Keep It Green” juice on the menu at LifeBar in Louisville (RIP). Very tasty!

The read

About a year ago, I bought a copy of I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy in a haze of intrigue and impulsiveness. (I don’t regret supporting you, Barnes and Noble. Please keep those doors open.) The bright yellow cover mocked me from my bookshelf for months, but I told you I don’t read veraciously during warmer weather, so I broke down and borrowed the audio version on Libby. Goodreads calls it “heartbreaking and hilarious,” but I didn’t find it funny one bit. It was grueling to listen to the enmeshment, abuse, coercive control, and the resulting sabotage on her life. So much pain, and not the kind of resolution you’d hope for by the end of a memoir. I shook my head so many times and probably earned a few extra frown lines from all the injustice. I appreciate Jennette’s courage to name what happened to her. It also feels like her courage is newfound, and she would benefit from several more years of processing and healing before writing a best seller (which it is, so my opinion is a minority). I finished the book and prayed for her.

All that to say, I do not recommend reading it. If you choose to, be warned its content is mature/adults only. ~ Alternatively, two beautifully redemptive memoirs I do recommend are Where the Light Fell by Philip Yancey and All My Knotted Up Life: A Memoir by Beth Moore. Gritty, heart wrenching, and beautiful.

The moment

The weather is beginning to cool here. Ethan and I enjoyed our coffee on the deck Saturday morning with a few games of Rummy. Our hummingbird buddies zipped in and out, being sure to chirp at us every time. My mom correctly named the feeling for this occasion: “small moments of deep joy.”

Be well, friends.

P.S. If you don’t get the title reference, check out Val Kilmer’s Doc Holliday in the 1993 movie, Tombstone.

1. Proverbs 16:18, NASB1995.

2. Proverbs 27:2.

3. Colossians 3:23.