You're too much.

This one hurts. Partly because it’s a message I’ve heard repeatedly. Partly because it feels like a character flaw. Partly because it makes me question my calling and whether or not I really can be more or if I’m just trying to be something that I never will be.

This is what I’m hearing:
You’re too loud.
You’re too excited.
You’re too controlling.
You’re too much.

You need to be less. Tone it down. People don’t see you as a leader because you’re just a cheerleader. You come off as disingenuine when you’re excited about everything and everyone. You’re the boy who cried wolf; no one is always that “on.” You can’t be the loudest or most excited as a leader.

This is how it feels:
I will never fix this; it’s a character flaw at the core of who I am.
I will never get it right no matter how much I grow or change or learn.
I will never be the right amount: not too much or not enough but just enough.
I will never be capable of really being used by God. of really making an impact.

Have you ever had the same conversation over and over again? It’s comical how I can be told the same thing so many times in so many different words. But it’s always the underlying same message. I’m doing too much. Taking over things that aren’t mine. Projects, meetings, conversations, space. I need to be gentler, quieter, more visionary. Just less. I’m too much.

I have had this conversation so many times that I am straight up wrestling with the question “How do I know if I’m growing in character or just trying to force something that I’m not?”

Unfortunately, I have no answer there yet. But what I do know is that the enemy is a fabulous ventriloquist. And he is so good at mimicking God’s voice that it’s easy to put meaning into words that are actually saying something different. I’ve been in it since my last “character building” conversation just 24 hours ago. In it with God. Against the lies of satan. With myself. I still have doubts. Questions without answers. But here’s one true thing God showed me.

I didn’t hear clearly. (read: I didn’t listen well.)

This is what’s actually being said:
I need to practice discernment to know who I need to be in the moment.
I need to lead with heart and vision, not with volume or expression.
I need to balance.
I need to shine light, not stand in it.

As much as I don’t like to wear the word “pastor” (Campus Director feels much less weighty), I am the pastoral role in a lot of ways. I need to be quieter to hear the Spirit move. I need to do less so others can raise up and find their place in being more. I need to discern the needs of the moment - which doesn’t at all mean being fake or misrepresenting who God made me to be but is actually a skill of self-control. Reading the room and understanding feelings so I can respond appropriately.

I don’t need to be less because I’m too much. I need to be less so God can be more.

This is what I’m actually feeling:
It’s painful because I know there’s truth in it.
It’s defeating because I can never seem to learn a lesson the first time.
It‘s frustrating because emotions are real and confusing.
It sucks because it’s hard.

And that’s how I know it’s leadership.

At the root of it, I have to love others more than I judge them. At the deepest, most buried level that I can’t see or feel or very easily tap into at all, there’s judgement. “They” won’t be excited and engaging without my example. “They” won’t do enough so I have to pick up the slack. “They” won’t do it with excellence so I’ll just do it myself. “They” aren’t as dedicated as I am so I have to do more to prove it. To receive acknowledgement. So everyone will see and know what I know.

Even more than judgement, it’s pride. Of doing it the best. Of doing the most. Of having high capacity without needing to rest or pause or refuel or breathe. Of catching it all and being the hero who saves what others can’t handle. It’s about proving myself. To everyone who ever said I couldn’t. To everyone who still doesn’t believe in me. To myself. To my boss. To my teams. To God. It’s doing and achieving and having high capacity and guess what else it is, sister?

It’s PRIDE.

Anything that says I can, I will, I do because others can’t, won’t or don’t is an underlying vein of pride. They’re just, they’re so, they aren’t…these are not encouraging, believing words. These are judgmental statements that allow us to ever so slightly elevate ourselves above everyone else. It’s about me, me and me.

((ouch))

Like I said, this one’s painful. I wish I was telling you this from the other side. I wish it was a lesson I’d learned and mastered. Not the result of a conversation I’ve had a handful of times within the last year, including just a few hours ago. It’s a hard one when you have to dig down layers upon layers deep to find the root of the pain. the unsettling feeling. the offense. What’s it really about? Pride is certainly not the answer I was looking for or expecting God to bring me. It’s the lessons we think we’ve already learned that can be the most painful when they pop up again.

This is how I can fix it. Well, work on it:
Release.
Relearn.
Relate.
Rely.

Not in changing my personality. Not in pushing my real self down. Not in forcing a quieter, gentler or fake, toned down version of the loud, energetic spirit I have. But by releasing things that aren’t mine to take on. Letting go of doing all the things & being everything to everyone. I’m a better wife, mom, boss, leader, pastor, teammate and friend when I don’t pick up extra things, even if my capacity or calendar (or pride) says that I can. By relearning what all of those roles mean. Being a wife doesn’t mean that my husband’s entire happiness rises and falls on my ability to say and do all of the right things. Being a mom doesn’t mean giving my daughters every spare minute of my day. Being a pastor or leader of any kind doesn’t mean doing all the things. The success of my community can not be dependent on me. We’d have a lot of confetti cannon parties but we would seriously miss out on a lot of other - more important - stuff. By relating to other people, I can practice love over judgement. I can encourage and build others up by giving them space to practice (and even fail!) because watching me leaves no room for anyone else to learn or grow. Relating to people means I believe in them. In their best. That they are capable and worthy and also called. The pride that elevates me also tells me to believe the worst in others. Because if I really believed the best for who they are, I would never be able to see myself even slightly above them. And the last one, if you have any leadership of any kind, is to rely on other people. Because when you believe the best about your team, you want to give them a chance to shine instead of taking the spotlight for yourself. That means coaching and teaching. Encouraging and supporting. It also means delegating and purposely not doing.

I know, it’s hard! Believe the best. That has to be the grace God gives me. Because it’d be super easy for Him to look down and say “For the love! We are dealing with this AGAIN?!” But instead of shaming me, He peeled back the layers and showed me that what I need to change in my heart isn’t a flaw, just sin. Just a perspective shift that I need to make. Because He’s using me in spite of having to learn this lesson for the thirteenth time.

Which is the hardest for you? Release, relearn, relate or rely? Whichever it is, I’m over here in all my cheerleadery loudness, excited for you to dive deep and do the hard work of finding what it is. And I’ll still be here happy-clapping when you’re ready to admit to the yucky parts. Because finding them kind of sucks but once you find what’s causing the pain, you can start to heal it.