A Community of Grace Seekers

looking for the grace of God in our ordinary everyday lives

Renae Perry 10/13/21 Renae Perry 10/13/21

self compassion

Self compassion isn’t something that comes naturally to me. I have a very loud and opinionated inner critic. She thinks I should have unlimited energy and no needs. She has graciously accepted responsibility to shame me if I ever make a mistake. And she reminds me of every negative message I have ever heard. Now that I think about it, she is not a very nice houseguest.

In the last few years though, I’ve been doing the hard work of evicting her. It began with my therapist challenging my self talk in her office. As she kindly smiled and said, “Words make worlds, Renae,” I started to take note of the negative messages I so easily spouted to myself. I spoke to myself in ways that I would never speak to another human soul.

Then another mentor who believed in me came along and challenged my limiting beliefs and my unreasonable expectations of myself. Now I had two people that I trusted holding up a mirror to my true self and the toll my critical inner spirit was taking on my mental and spiritual health.

I began meditating during all of this, and the mindfulness I was learning helped me witness what was going on in my head, and notice my self talk as it was happening. I learned to slow down my monkey mind, which I realized was often my inner critic again, rattling off all of the ways life could cave in because of my inadequacies.

And then I read a book that took me a step further. It is by a trauma informed therapist named Aundi Kolber. The book is called Try Softer, and I am not an affiliate, just a reader who has been transformed by her work. The idea is the we learn in childhood to hustle and work harder in order to survive and be safe. Our coping mechanisms keep us safe when we are children, but as adults they hold us hostage to unhealthy patterns. We don’t tune in to our body and the messages it sends us when we are white knuckling our way through life. We spend a lifetime trying harder, but what would it look like to try softer?

Trying softer says we listen to our bodies. It says we recognize the impact our stories have on us. It calls us to give compassionate attention to ourselves and hush the inner critic inside.

When I am listening to my inner critic, I let the pain and impossible expectations build until I can’t carry it all any longer. My body is still healing from the result of ignoring myself, my pain, and my needs for so long. In her book, Aundi says:

A person who suffers a thousand paper cuts but is told those injuries are nothing is unlikely to ever stop to care for them. She may even assume that she is weak or lacks character as her pain mounts. At some point, however, her hand is likely to become infected, and she, too, will need to head to the emergency room. Whether the trauma is big or little, people find great relief when they receive validation that their wound needs care.

My therapist and my mentor, my mindfulness and Aundi’s book all validated my story and my wounds. They helped me find compassion for the person I am and the story I’ve lived. They have all taught me to try softer, which is really a way to say that I am leaning into self compassion.

For me, self compassion says I work to honor the way my experiences have shaped me. I pay attention to the biological responses my body has now because of those experiences of big and little trauma. I speak kindly to myself and remember to breathe. I recognize when the voice of my inner critic shows up. I am learning to cast away the constant people pleasing - I had that one down to an art. And I am learning to accurately assess what is going on around me and within me. They are actually two different things!

This one may be the hardest for me, but I am even learning to value my body. For so long I have internalized the belief that my body is worthless and bad. I have criticized it, starved it, ignored it, numbed it, and punished it. But our bodies matter. Aundi reminds us that our bodies are “telling stories about our joy and pain. And we are created to listen to their narrative.”

I am learning to listen to my body and not abandon myself. I am learning that my story is valid, and because it is laced with trauma and abuse, sometimes experiences are triggering to me even if I think I should be over it. I am learning to recognize my window of tolerance, and to give myself compassionate attention. I am learning to expect my progress to be slow and steady, rather than an all-at-once quick fix.

So I will leave you with something I still find really hard, but I absolutely need the practice. I will leave you with statements of affirmation that help ground me when I am feeling disconnected from myself because of overwhelm or self criticism. Practice them yourself today and see how they help you.

I am safe within myself.

I can set boundaries.

I am valuable.

I am good enough.

I am in process.

I am lovable.

And so are you.

Renae Perry 10/6/21 Renae Perry 10/6/21

Imposter

Did you know that Maya Angelou, even after writing 11 books and winning numerous prestigious awards, couldn’t escape the nagging doubt that she hadn’t earned her accomplishments. And Albert Einstein experienced something similar. He described himself as an “involuntary swindler” whose work didn’t deserve the attention it got.

It is often called imposter syndrome - a persistent belief that you haven’t earned your seat at the table. I hit it hard when I started writing. It took me nearly 6 months of writing before I actually called myself a writer. It nearly crippled me in my first few months of spiritual direction training. So I had to practice calling myself a spiritual director. Well now I am finding myself in the muddy marshes of imposter syndrome again as I step into my new role as a pastor.

It’s not that I doubt my calling. I am 100% confident that God has called me to serve as a pastor. I don’t even doubt my abilities really. Obviously I have a lot to learn about doing this job, but that is not the same as my ability - that is God given. I am embodied by Spirit when I preach and teach, and that feeling of flow when I am working for God is evidence that Spirit is working through me.

So, I don’t doubt my calling. But sometimes, when I stand at the pulpit preparing for worship, and I imagine my Pawpaw doing the same thing in his pulpit, I feel like an 8 year old little girl playing “preacher.” I marvel at the fact that God is using me to speak words to people.

But let’s talk a bit more about imposter syndrome. It’s more common than you think. It has been experienced across gender, race, age, and a variety of occupations. It is not a disease or mental health disorder - and it’s not depression or anxiety. It plagues so many of us, and for the most part, it is simply part of being human.

Let me make one thing absolutely clear: This doesn’t erase the fact that there is also systemic bias and racism. There are (far too many)places where historical and cultural inequities exist. In those instances, it is not the bipoc, lgtbq, or any number of minorities that need fixing, rather it is the systems.

Each of us doubt ourselves privately, but we think we are alone because no one else voices their doubts.

Let me be clear: feeling like an imposter doesn’t make you an imposter. Most of us feel unsure or anxious when we begin new tasks or learn a new skill. That is called being human.

Oddly enough, the best way to combat imposter syndrome is to talk about it. We are afraid if we ask for feedback, our fears will be confirmed. And even when we receive positive feedback, sometimes it is hard to stop the feelings. What does help is hearing a mentor or a peer admit that they have struggled with feeling like an imposter too. It takes courage to take a risk. And also, the reward is worth it. When we have open conversations about the challenges we face, we all learn to be a bit more courageous.

You have talent. You are capable. You belong.

Renae Perry 9/29/21 Renae Perry 9/29/21

October

I have always loved October. The colors of changing leaves, the beginning of autumn, cool crisp mornings - it has always been an intoxicating mix for me.

My sweet nephew Jackson was born in October.

Twenty-twenty held a particularly sweet October for me. I wrote and published my first blog here one year ago on October 1. Writing is something I have always dreamt of doing, and this has been a safe space to share and celebrate the grace I see around me. I have grown so much by just sitting down and consistently showing up week after week in this place.

This year, October 1st will hold another milestone. I have been hinting at the transformation I am experiencing. I have known for a while now that God is preparing me to bloom in a new way. Honestly though, I have been afraid to say it out loud to anyone but my best friend, my therapist and my spiritual director.

And yet, here I am, showing up and saying yes. Let me share the story with you.

Psalm 136 has been a steady place for me during the last 5 years. It is a favorite because throughout this call and response liturgy of the Israelite people, the leader names the wonders and ways God has been present for them - and after each verse, the congregation responds by crying out, “God’s steadfast love endures forever.”

So let’s talk a little bit about this phrase: God’s steadfast love - the Hebrew word is HESED. Sometimes it’s translated as lovingkindness, mercy, goodness, and here in Psalm 136, as steadfast love.

The word HESED shows up 26 times in this psalm, and it is used all over in the Old Testament.

We see it when God shows Joseph faithful love while he was imprisoned. God speaks it over Moses when God gives Moses the 10 commandments. It shows up when God renews the covenant through David as God speaks through Nathan the prophet. HESED is used when Isaiah prophesies the coming of the Messiah from the lineage of David.

And after the city of Jerusalem fell and the temple was destroyed, Jeremiah wrote a poetic song of lament, praying for the deliverance of the kingdom of Judah. In it he calls on the hope of God’s HESED.

It is recorded in the book of Lamentations in chapter 3 verses 21-23, and it was the verse I clung to through much of my own story:

21 But this I call to mind,
    and therefore I have hope:
22 The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
    his mercies never come to an end;
23 they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

Did you catch that? In Jeremiah’s deepest lament, he calls on hope in God’s steadfast love - God’s forever, unfailing love. That is why the Israelites - and I - needed to repeat it over and over again. Over and over until our minds have it memorized and the words are dwelling deep within us. So that when we encounter a deep valley, it comes to mind. We can easily recall God’s steadfast love because the words are etched on our heart.

I have been in church since before I was born. I grew up listening to my Pawpaw preach and seeing my Mawmaw practice God’s love in our little church in Roebuck. I heard it and sang it in my youth group in Center Point when I knelt and told God that I would serve in whatever way He asked. I taught it to my tiny children as a new mom singing over them in the quiet of nighttime feedings and in the days of no sleep. I remembered it and shared it with circles of women sharing their stories in the churches I served as a pastor’s wife in Alabama and Kentucky and Florida. And when the worst happened to me, when my husband died suddenly in March of 2017, though some days my mind couldn’t remember my own name, my heart remembered God’s steadfast love - and God was the anchor in my storm.

And since that undoing of my certainty, God has been renewing my understanding of HESED. I’d like to share some of those ways and moments with you here today. I want you to see God’s movement in my life because it is a testimony of HESED, but also because I want you to see God’s movement and HESED in your life too.

So a long long time ago in a galaxy far far away…

I was a new widow with 2 teenage sons and a shattered life. I had been a pastor’s wife and a homeschooling mom and a counselor for 20 years. But the sudden death of my husband left me without a spouse, without a sustainable income, without an identity in the church. And we were broken. In our brokenness and devastation, I cried my own lament: “God I can’t see you. My life has blown up and is shattered into a million billion pieces. I’m alone in the dark and I can’t put it all back together alone. Will you take these broken pieces and make something beautiful out of them?” The second I asked, the Holy Spirit very clearly planted in my mind the image of a mosaic, art created from broken pieces. And that was the image that I clung to during the long days and lonely nights that followed. It was my promise that God’s HESED would conquer the darkness, and it was my reminder to trust and hope when I could not see the light.