Navel-Gazing Done Right

I remember when my first child discovered her belly button. Having recently learned to sit up on her own, she looked down, and found this funny-looking hole in her tummy. Thus began her journey of self-discovery.

Our evangelical tradition correctly warns us that focusing on self can lead to all sorts of problems. An egocentric worldview inevitably leads to pride, self-aggrandizement, lack of empathy, and other neuroses. Unfortunately, we have taken this subjugation of self to unhealthy extremes.

Some calvinistic traditions have even turned self-hatred into a core spiritual discipline.

I grew up in a healthy home with a well-adjusted family, but it was considered downright tacky to think about oneself or talk about oneself, unless it was to identify the motivation behind wrongdoing or failure.

So, the words of Chuck Swindoll felt like a cool breeze on a stifling day when he wrote,

No one needs to hear these words more that parents in the process of rearing little children. The impact they have on a child under the age of ten is profound. These vital, fundamental words are important at any age but critical to little ones. Here they are: Know who you are, accept who you are, be who you are.[1]

True humility begins with an accurate and realistic view of self—strengths and weaknesses, darkness and light—and then making the conscious choice to regard others as more important. Without an honest assessment of self, true humility will prove elusive, as pride continually seeks to fill that vacancy.

During the season I have called my crossroads moment, I have been forced to do some honest self-assessment—something I should have been led to do as an adolescent. Parker J. Palmer’s work, Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation (Josey-Bass, 2000), has been an invaluable help.

In this dense little volume, he encourages readers to rediscover our “birthright gifts,” those innate abilities and interests that have always been with us. They offer clues to who God made us, what makes us uniquely special. This, in turn, points to what we should be doing as a vocation.

When I spent a few weeks reminiscing with myself and others who know me well, I discovered a number of birthright gifts. One day, I felt ready to list them out on a whiteboard to see what picture these puzzle pieces might form. What emerged resonated as true and filled me with a sense of calm.

I now know that I will find most satisfaction and achieve greatest success in any vocation, any job, that incorporates these innate abilities and acquired skills. And the relationship is proportional. The more natural ability I can apply, the more everyone benefits: the agency I advance, the people I serve, the people who love me, and myself.

I encourage you to do some reminiscing. What stories from your past reveal natural abilities and interests? Are you trying to “do what you ought” or are you being who you are?

[1] Charles R. Swindoll, Parenting: From Surviving to Thriving (Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2008), 63.

No Admittance: Coming to Terms with Limits and Failure

I don’t like admitting failure. No one does.

Failure is especially difficult for those of us who embraced the American myth: “With enough determination and enough desire, you can do anything and become anyone!”

I am a citizen of a nation founded upon this myth, and reared by a generation who lived and preached the myth of no limitations. I was bathed in “can-do,” clothed in “can-do,” and fed to the gills with “can-do.” Failure, according to this myth, is the result of my own unwillingness to claim my birthright or my lack of faith in God, who gave it to me.

Having come to my crossroads moment, I’m beginning to accept the possibility that my successes and failures may have little to do with my character, and everything to do with my identity.

As author, Parker J. Palmer, writes,

Each of us arrives here with a nature, which means both limits and potentials. We can learn as much about our nature by running into our limits as by experiencing our potentials. . . . Our problem as Americans . . . is that we resist the very idea of limits, regarding limits of all sorts as temporary and regrettable impositions on our lives. Our national myth is about the endless defiance of limits: opening the western frontier, breaking the speed of sound, dropping people on the moon . . . We refuse to take no for an answer.[1]

I hate limits. I despise failure. They offend my American sensibilities and they challenge my male identity. Consequently, I have made them my lifelong sworn enemies.

Now, as I stand at a crossroads, I’m beginning to see that limits and failure may have been my allies all along.

It’s not that I didn’t have the smarts to succeed or that I lacked the work ethic. Instead, my failures show me where I did not attempt the right things while my successes reveal where my strengths are best applied.

Limits help me channel my potentials in harmony with my God-given identity as I walk the path He has set before me (Psalm 139:13–16). Failures are the signs that identify limits and keep me from going down dangerous paths that may harm others or myself again.

Coming to terms with my failures will not be easy, but I’m already beginning to experience the peace that comes with admitting limitations.

Enjoying success should be simpler now.

[1] Parker J. Palmer, Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation (San Francisco: Josey-Bass, 2000), 41–42.

“Now I Become Myself”

Now I become myself. It’s taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people’s faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
“Hurry, you will be dead before–”
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!

“Now I Become Myself” by May Sarton, from Collected Poems 1930-1993. © W.W. Norton, 1993.

Hello, Silence. I hear you.

Here, at my crossroads moment, I hear the voice of silence bid me to linger.

“Voice of silence.” That’s how Elijah described his crossroads moment in the Negev wilderness of Israel (cf. 1 Kings 19:12).

Yeah, I know. Your version probably says something like, “the sound of a low whisper” (ESV), “a gentle whisper” (NIV), “a still small voice” (NKJV), or somthing like that.

The literal Hebrew expression reads, “a voice of small silence” or “a voice of thin stillness.” It’s meant to be paradoxical, a seemingly self-contradictory, absurd description. In other words, Elijah perceived God’s presence supernaturally.

Elijah’s crossroads moment occurred after a significant personal failure.

For many years he had steadfastly opposed the despotic, idol-worshiping rule of Ahab and Jezebel, boldly speaking truth to power. His long campaign then climaxed with a triumphant showdown with the prophets of Baal on Mt. Carmel (1 Kings 18:20–46).

After this dramatic victory, the prophet’s confidence should have reached an all-time high. His years of ministry had been validated by God’s omnipotence and he stood on the threshold of victory. Yet when Jezebel threatened to kill him, his courage wilted and he ran.

As his personal failure sank in, he prayed, “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers” (1 Kings 19:4).

After God gave His servant food to replenish his body and sleep to restore his mind, He called Elijah to enter a season of solitude. Forty days of quiet reflection in a very special place (1 Kings 19:5–8).

When the time was right, in the midst of his crossroads moment, Elijah perceived God’s silent voice and received the affirmation and direction he needed so desperately.

My natural response to moments like this is not to remain where I am. Ordinarily, I would take action, get busy doing something positive, seek constructive change.

But this time is different. There’s nowhere to go. Nothing different I should be doing. My triumphs and failures have led me to an empty cave, where life has left me famished, and I hunger to hear from God.

While I am still, I am not idle. I have work accomplish–worthy work. I have people who need me to be present when I am with them. Waiting to hear from God isn’t a time for passivity.

There are things we can do to prepare for perceiving God’s silent voice. And I am doing them.

My Castaway Crossroads

My journey has led to a crossroads.

A true crossroads moment is rare. It comes along once–maybe twice–in a lifetime. It’s more than a mere intersection, where one must decide which direction to take toward a particular destination. A crossroads moment, instead, begins with the realization that you have no particular place to go.

A crossroads moment represents the end of a journey, along with the mourning that usually accompanies loss. And it represents the potential start of a new journey, with all its frightening uncertainty and tentative hope.

It has the vague sense of being lost, except there’s nowhere to be . . . other than here.

Staying put is the only wise choice.

A crossroads moment calls for a deep reevaluation of self. My past has contributed to who I am, but God now wants to fashion someone new out of that old me. To join my re-Creator at this crossroads, I have spent the past couple of months in a detailed examination myself in the harsh, unforgiving light of truth.

I have reviewed my Myers-Briggs, my StrengthsFinder, and my Enneagram results. (Please don’t suggest another assessment; I have moved on from this phase.) I participated in the painful affirmation of a 360 Feedback Review and engaged the honest insight of trusted colleagues by asking the questions, “How have you experienced me as a co-worker?” and “What advice would you have for me to improve as a leader?”

I think I have a reasonably objective view of myself, including admirable and shadow qualities. I struggle to make sense of my mixed bag of abilities, education, and experience, which qualify me for a vast array of vocations . . . and, therefore, none in particular. At least none in plain view.

So, at this crossroads, feeling more than a little paralyzed by too many options, I have decided to embrace the moment. I will savor this unsettling freedom and allow God to do His work within me. And I will do the hardest thing of all: wait.

If you think of me, pray that the Holy Spirit will bring clarity.

If you find yourself at your own crossroads moment, I hope these words offer encouragement and insight. I pray you find your path.

Mark W Gaither

What I'm thinking about these days

Tag: identity