No, You Don't Got This

Scripture tells us we are wretched sinners. Modern theology says something different.

"There are a lot of people who give you the message that maybe you are not good enough, and the best thing you can do for yourself is to block out all of that noise."— Rachel Platten

I am strong. If you grew up parentalized, with an unstable, narcissistic mother, you know the exact flavor of tough running through my veins. There are frightfully few things I won’t measure up and attempt to undertake. Inside of me rests the kind of resilience that is formed through trauma. I can read people. I am responsible. Under stress or in emergencies, I excel. I am descended from a long line of women who, despite being made of steel, bend but do not break. I am a survivor.

Growing up in my mother’s house meant being told, constantly, of my faults. Physically, I was too tall, clumsy, and had an abnormally long neck that I should learn to disguise. I was unloveable, she said— pointing out that I was rarely physically affectionate or demonstrative, and that men preferred women who were given to touch as a form of expression. I covered up my intentions. I was too eager to belong and no one really wanted my company. I wasn’t intelligent. I was embarrassing, merely tolerated. The whole package that was me was given the message in the quote above: I was not good enough.

The world’s answer is, as stated, to block out the voice that plays in my head like a loop and push past it. To reach my maximum potential, I need to shove that entire experience behind me and rise above it, like a phoenix. Why? Because I’ve got this. I am enough.

And yes, I tried that for a season. I pressed all of those lies down and tucked them away and stepped into the New Me. The Me who refused to believe it, the Me who was going to succeed in spite of it all. It was a very lonely place. It turns out, carrying all that baggage, no matter how well-packed, is hard. It forms a shell around the heart that leads to bitterness and anger. Rather than being strong, I was hard. The difference is subtle but real.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.—2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Something funny happened when I encountered the truth about Jesus. The years of self-preservation slowly peeled back. The accusations, the assumptions, the words hurled to keep me in my place… they began to mean less because I saw their root and felt truly sorry for the person who had burdened me with them— even as I began to understand that I was, indeed, a wretch.

At the heart of the Christian faith is the understanding that we are separated from God not by His aloofness, but by the utter stink of our own sin. Words like “filthy rags,” “unclean,” and, “worthless,” are applied to the acts one might undertake on his or her own. Apart from Jesus, we are the weakest of the weak, the most broken of the broken. This is a vital awareness for all sinners; it’s what leads us to understand the depth of God’s mercy in sending His Son to die for us, and makes us so painfully aware of our need for a Savior.

We don’t got this.

This can be hard for people— especially women— with my particular background to understand. We come out of traumatic backgrounds, childhoods, events, and are told that we can use them to build ourselves. We can take the bricks thrown at us and build walls that will strengthen us for the journey ahead. We can use the hurt to rise. It is the best thing we can do for ourselves. It is what shows the world we have endured.

The Gospel says something entirely different. Those of us who came to Jesus beaten down by the people who should have encouraged us most have to learn a new set of skills. Rather than depending on our wits and our thick skin to survive, we have to learn to allow ourselves to feel—truly feel—our weakness and let it speak of our need for Him.

I can’t explain how hard this was for me. I was fortunate enough to have other voices competing with my mother’s degradation of me as a child, voices that reminded me that I was loved and cherished, voices that told me I had been created with a plan and purpose. My reaction to the mixed messages when I reached high school was to lock them all away and start fresh for a season with the wisdom of the world. Where that led me was a place with lots of ambition and drive, but no joy.

How could it be that accepting that I was weak, that I couldn’t do this alone, would give me the satisfaction that I couldn’t find on my own?

I didn’t understand God’s upside down Kingdom yet. I couldn’t grasp how it was the meek who inherited the earth (Matthew 5:5) In fact, all of the beatitudes eluded me. They were a turn off, really— an allowance for people who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) stand up for themselves and demand justice. A section of Scripture for the weak, for those who hadn’t learned to fight like I had.

And today… they are some of the verses I hold most dear.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.—Matthew 5:3-12

It turns out, I am not especially physically unappealing. I don’t doubt that I was an awkward child, but as an adult woman, I’ve never given the length of my neck any particular thought.— and being tall has obvious advantages. Not shockingly, my lack of a desire for physical connection came from feeling unsafe, and while I will never be someone who hugs strangers with abandon, I am very comfortable being close to those people I love. I only hold myself back from people whose intentions I cannot gauge. I look around and know I am loved. The words my mother spoke over me out of her own hurt and fear hold no power anymore.

But I am still not enough. I am painfully aware I don’t got this.

I lean deeply into Jesus. His strength is where my resilience lies. His promises are my hope. His truth is light in this dark and sometimes scary world. I am content to be seen as all the things my mother once said would be my downfall: weak, unintelligent, an outcast. I know now that God’s definition of those things is wildly different than the world’s, and I am honored to pursue His vision of a faithful servant above all else.

Maybe you’re reading this today and are carrying bags that have made you hard. Maybe you’re reading it and have bought the lie that you can buck up, stand tall, and survive. I’m here to tell you that yes, you can attempt those things. But there is no peace there. There is no rest. There is nothing that lasts.

Set it down. Let Jesus show you how weak you truly are— and how easy it is to shelter in His strength. Let the words you were told defined you go, and cling instead to what God calls you: an adopted son or daughter, sought out, pursued, wanted, loved. However you see yourself, friend, don’t buy the lie that you are enough. Don’t think you are strong. Don’t set yourself apart as being able to do it all on your own. Instead, run to the One who created you. Find out who you really are, who He purposed you to be. You will find a strength there that you never imagined could exist. And you will do more than survive, friend. You will thrive.

In Christ,

Heather