When the Walls Come Down

At 9am this morning, after a long night with our maintenance crew, I was informed we had a water main brake under our apartment.  My workday was a complete loss and our apartment had become a smelly scene of ripped flooring, broken pipes, water-logged carpet, and large holes in our floor and walls.  Since this is the third time we've been jackhammered in one year due to water main breaks, I figure I'll be lap swimming inside our apartment by sometime next month.

While surrounded by plumbers and maintenance staff this afternoon, my boss called me - and I "cracked."  Walls crashed down as embarrassing tears rolled down my cheeks over the stress of water saturating our apartment and our belongings stacked up like the inside of a dusty, forgotten warehouse. She had me laughing in under a minute, reminding me of a story from fourteen years ago - when I learned walls coming down between people may not be comfortable, but always leads to a better ending...   

💧 💧💧💦

As a Political Science major in undergrad, I envisioned myself earning a law degree and becoming an attorney.  I would have long days in the courtroom and a high-rise office.  I’d wear expensive suits, order lunch in, and have a reserved spot in the nearby parking garage. (Some of that has come true - I owned a matching suit once).

Instead, the fall after I graduated and one week after our honeymoon, Barrett and I loaded our belongings into his father’s green, Chevy pickup, and embarked on a 520-mile journey to Columbus Ohio. Columbus would be home to a new chapter in our life together - seminary - where I would learn the tenants of serving as a spiritual leader.

To be honest, I knew nothing about seminary before a Friar (Franciscan priest) quietly mentioned it to me over bagels and orange juice one morning my senior year of college. I had already begun filling  out law school applications, was not aware of any sky-rise churches I’d be interested in having my parking spot in (at the time) and, let’s be frank - I wasn’t sure I was ready to depart from the image of who I thought myself to be.

“Seminary? Why would I go to seminary?” I asked (probably with cream cheese between my teeth).

I don't remember what his answer was, but it must have been good -
because a week later I submitted an application.

I began freshman classes at the Methodist Theological School in Ohio (MTSO) without ever having participated in a formal Bible study and I was timid as hell. My shallow level of Biblical and theological knowledge stood out in my research papers and class discussions. Many students were second career professionals (well-seasoned Christians) or had grown up in very Christian homes. My background was a little looser... my parents had encouraged attending church but never outlined what I should believe when it came to my faith (I've come to deeply appreciate this).

They did, however, prep me with a handful of inappropriate jokes to tell and a solid chance at winning a game of Rummy. And while these tools have deemed themselves useful on a few occasions, seminary didn't seem to be one of them.

In class, my fellow students could recite memorized Bible verses like it was nothing. I, on the other hand, would look dumbfounded while flipping between pages of the Bible figuring out whether the book they were referring to was in the Old or New Testament - and I’m not exaggerating. I scrambled to make up for lost research by studying around the clock. I'd show up to class still feeling self conscious about not knowing enough. The excitement of attending seminary, exploring my relationship with God, and serving as a leader wore thin.

Eventually, I threw in the cards and quit.

Embarrassed to have even shown up at seminary, tears rolled down my cheeks on the last day of my first semester as I signed the withdrawal paperwork in front of the admissions staff. I told the administrator I would never know enough to lead a group of children or adults in any kind of discussion about God, much less write or speak a decent sermon.

My new husband, the witness of my long nights, early mornings, and frustrating study sessions, did not put up a fight to my decision. The guy who graduated with honors in engineering and math was working a Verizon kiosk in Wal-Mart for minimum wage and he too wanted a return ticket home.

To my surprise, friends and professors expressed their grave disappointment in my decision.

I felt confused.
Didn't they think it made sense for the student struggling so deeply to find another vocation?
Weren't all the signs there?

During that first semester, I had grown particularly close to a Theology professor -
We shared a passion for the great outdoors and both had uncontrollable, kinky hair!

She had become a mentor to several of us that semester, and in a profoundly vulnerable moment upon hearing I had withdrawn, she exclaimed she was just downright angry at me for quitting - and began crying. Standing there in a hallway, I opened up to her, admitting how “stupid” I felt in class and how intimidating it was to even think about writing a sermon.

At that moment, Dr. Linda Mercadante had a choice.

She was at a crossroads with a newly-married, 22-year-old student. Dr. Mercadante could have patted me on the back - agreeing the difficulty was good cause to quit. Instead, she said what I - and so many other budding leaders need to hear:

“You think this is about you. It’s not. It’s about what God is doing inside of you. This is a journey and God isn't done with you yet.”

I felt defeat and humiliation. She saw a young leader finding her way.

Over and over in life, a part of us can become clouded by insecurity, the judgment we think others have towards us, doubt, past mistakes, failures, and broken dreams. And that part of me had already packed my bags, signed the withdrawal paperwork, and rented a new apartment back home.

In the struggle to define who I was - as a leader and a believer - I quit.  I backed down from the heavy challenges that came with creating my own theological, biblical and heartfelt beliefs about God, why humans exist, and what a life following Jesus looks like.

I may have left the next day, but my professor’s words followed me home.

Barrett landed his dream job not long after moving back, and for months I watched my husband do exactly what he always said he would do - solve mathematical problems and write code. He says he knew his senior year of high school exactly what he wanted, and never wavered from that path. Meanwhile, I floated around the outskirt of what I wanted to do (or needed to do) because I lacked the confidence to pursue it. Because I doubted myself. Because I decided I wasn't worthy.

Except that I am. I might not have the Bible memorized, but I can learn. I can't spew verses that seem relevant, but I can listen. I can't give a 20-minute dissertation on why God and Satan are casually conversing in the book of Job, but I can meet you where you are, and walk side by side with you. I have skills you can't learn in a book and darn it, I can graduate seminary.

I called my friend Molly, the Director of Admissions at MTSO, and asked about returning.

This time was different, however.

Releasing the fear I held so tightly nine months before, I opened myself to being reworked by God.  I dropped some of my ego in order to be more authentic in admitting where I struggled. I even challenged my friends to a game of Rummy and told inappropriate jokes the entire time.

Being a leader, I discovered, isn’t about being perfect. It’s about allowing yourself to be seen.

It's funny how we often view tears as a weakness because 16 years ago, a professor's tears sent one of the strongest messages I've ever heard. In a moment of perceived weakness and vulnerability, you might be making space for the spirit of the Divine to rush in and do what spirit does - mold, shape, whisper, nudge, and inspire us on our journey - in leadership and faith.

Through courageous friends and divine whispers, my own journey was emboldened and refueled.
I'm curious...
Is the spirit nudging you in any way?
Do you hesitate to admit something or hold back from a truth within you because of the fear of being seen?
Do you put yourself with friends and in circles where you are YOU?
How can we help you feel emboldened and refueled?

Because you, my friend, are God's gift to this earth.
You are here to do good and powerful things.
And we need you being you - all wound up tight or completely cracked open.


Peace,

Annette