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Monday, December 29, 2003

I've received an invitation in the e-mail yesterday. An invitation that, not to be melodramatic about it, will take me a step closer to my dreams. And who in their right mind would decline such a request?! Of course after the euphoria died down and after reading the congratulatory mails from a couple of friends I thought... Hmmmm? It's not that I'm plagued by doubts on my abilities to do it nor am I wracked by guilt that I would be getting selective amnesia after a while. But it's more like a "guilty" feeling one gets for being selected above the rest. While I'm on my rocking chair pondering this Melancholy and Aloneness began to knock on the door whining to be let in. They were accompanied by the twin brothers Self-loathing (who had the loudest voice) and Self-pity along with their sister Miserability. They also brought Anger and Isolation with them just for fun. They're like a bunch of Grima Wormtongues from J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings and familiar company from the past. I was sorely tempted to go and welcome them in but before I could stand up to open the door, I was reminded of this part of the book I'm reading:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?" Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us . . . And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. (Nelson Mandela)

When I first read this quote, I thought, No, that’s not true. We don't fear our glory. We fear we are not glorious at all. We fear that at bottom, we are going to be revealed as . . . disappointments. Mandela is just trying to make a nice speech, like a sermon, to buoy us up for a day or two. But as I thought about it more, I realized we do fear our glory. We fear even heading this direction because, for one thing, it seems prideful. Now pride is a bad thing, to be sure, but it's not prideful to embrace the truth that you bear the image of God. Paul says it brings glory to God. We walk in humility because we know it is a glory bestowed. It reflects something of the Lord's glory.

The deeper reason we fear our own glory is that once we let others see it, they will have seen the truest us, and that is nakedness indeed. We can repent of our sin. We can work on our "issues." But there is nothing to be "done" about our glory. It's so naked. It's just there—the truest us. It is an awkward thing to shimmer when everyone else around you is not, to walk in your glory with an unveiled face when everyone else is veiling his. For a woman to be truly feminine and beautiful is to invite suspicion, jealousy, misunderstanding. A friend confided in me, "When you walk into a room, every woman looks at you to see—are you prettier than they are? Are you a threat?"

And that is why living from your glory is the only loving thing to do. You cannot love another person from a false self. You cannot love another while you are still hiding. How can you help them to freedom while you remain captive? You cannot love another unless you offer her your heart. It takes courage to live from the heart. My friend Jenny said just the other day, "I desperately want to be who I am. I don't want the glory that I marvel at in others anymore. I want to be that glory which God has set in me."

Finally, our deepest fear of all . . . we will need to live from it. To admit we do have a new heart and a glory from God, to begin to let it be unveiled and embrace it as true—that means the next thing God will do is ask us to live from it. Come out of the boat. Take the throne. Be what he meant us to be. And that feels risky . . . really risky. But it is also exciting. It is coming fully alive. My friend Morgan declared, "It's a risk worth taking."
But I can cry –
O Enemy, the maker hath not done;
One day thou shalt behold, and from the sight wilt run.
(George MacDonald)

It's not so much the fear of expectation to perform but rather the thought that I would be going through this without much familiar company around me. Physical company that is... But it's a false burden I choose not to bear.

* Excerpts taken from John Eldredge's book "Waking the Dead," pp. 87-88.

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