Letting Go of Shyness & Embracing Quietness Instead

A little while ago, I wrote a blog about what it has looked like to grow up as “the quiet girl.” I left the piece somewhat inconclusive. Here’s some light and truth for us quiet folk.

For most of my life, I have used “shyness” and “quietness” interchangeably. The words seemed married, in my mind—bark of the same tree, blossoming the same fruit. Yet I undoubtedly use them differently. When I feel favorably disposed to think myself reticent, I call it quietness. When I feel ashamed, I name it shyness.

I was at a friend’s party recently, and my shyness commanded my actions like clockwork. Friends huddled in groups to talk; I awkwardly hovered alone. Even now I feel uncomfortable thinking about it: the way shyness dictates my actions and feeling, and the growing, incessant desire to root my identity in something else.

When the high school “shy girl” identity threatens to color my adult self, I start to feel panicky. I start to scheme ways I can be more outgoing, or present myself in a more adventurous, daring light. It’s amazing the things we think will set us free.

As the root of shyness has worked itself out in my life, I have come to see the difference between it and quietness. Shyness roots itself in fear. Deep down, through various layers of soil—of insecurities, of doubts, of lies—it finds bedrock by cracking into our identity. Though shyness might seem a harmless, weak word, the root works at the rock over time and gently taps through. And we find that we believe (deep, deep down) that we are—at the soul of us—shy. We believe there’s no hope for it. That, standing in a room full of people, various groups laughing and sectioned off with their backs turned away from us, we must stand alone. We cannot break in—why? Because we are shy.

It may be the most debilitating word I know.

Quietness, I am realizing, is so different. And so sweetly freeing. And, what is more, it is confidant.

True and unwavering confidence comes from faith in God. This faith works itself out in our lives in myriad ways, and not least on the list is confidence. Finding (and believing) approval from God creates a dynamic shift in our perspectives. When we constantly work for others’ approval, we have to constantly be looking inward, at ourselves. We’re judging every word and movement we make under the law of people’s approval. When this is traded for confidence in God’s approval, we have capacity to look to others’ needs.

This roots a quiet person in peace. It speaks the healing truth that words do not fix all problems, not all moments need speeches and—most importantly—if I have nothing to say, the void does not need to be anxiously filled with something, anything, but can be waited out with patience.

It reminds me, in the midst of a party, that there are other people in this room. There are people who need a listening ear. There are people who have joys and struggles to share. And if, past all that, I still end up standing alone, that’s okay, too. I have peace in His presence.

We know God highly values a “gentle and quiet spirit,” (1 Peter 3:4). We’re told to temper the number of our words in His presence (Ecclesiastes 5:2). We’re reminded to “be quick to listen, slow to speak,” (James 1:19). So we know that quietness can be a wonderful gift. Not a burden, not an identity, but a sweet and unassuming gift to those around us.

If, like me, you find yourself much more rooted in shyness than quietness, I pray you won’t feel defeated. That kind of thing only leads to fear and more of what we most don’t want. Instead, seek God. Look up, when shyness most prods at your identity, and know that He is there. He is what we need. He is who approves us.

Seeking Righteousness over Rightness: living that daily sacrifice

The words come hard, slow. Ideas that have sat muddled in my mind for weeks fight to sharpen and focus. What does it mean—practically, spiritually—to seek righteousness over rightness?

It’s a hard topic; it’s one that resides in the nucleus, forming the thoughts, the actions. Which do I long for more? Do I long to be right? To know the answer. To speak the truth. To defend myself. Or do I long to be righteous? To seek the Kingdom. To give up the life. To deny myself.

And where is that hallowed middle ground?

So we have to start here. Here, at the holy truth, the bright and shining reality, the one that clears the bramble and opens the path:

Our validation does not come from being right. Our validation comes from the source of our righteousness, which is Jesus.

And when I test this against my actions, the grain falls heavy and the chaff blows free. Relying on my rightness for validation leaves me hungry, full of food but craving for more. And it leaves me angry, when others don’t feed my need to be right. But, my mind scrambles to justify, can we shortchange the truth at the cost of our sin?

And the Word knows this thought. So it speaks the truth with kindness and conviction:

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.”

So the truth is not shortchanged at all; it is overpaid by those redeemed with love. Only with Jesus comes truth with love. Love: that rare and holy thing that makes a person die to self, to desire, to instinct, to pride, and look the neighbor in the eye and say, your needs are first. Your burden is mine. Your feelings are important.

“For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it.”

While rightness and righteousness are bone of bone and flesh of flesh, our first desire should be for righteousness. My, how I wish I could say it was daily mine. Because we’re called to daily sacrifice. We’re called to loss of life. And with that loss comes love enough to seek the best for the neighbor and the second for the self.

We are not called to “being right.” We’re called to righteousness.

Calm the roar of voices, the tirade of rightness, Lord, and lead us in love and righteousness, that our words may reflect Your own.

The True, Heart-Humility

Customer after customer seemed to challenge my pride. Maybe it was the day, maybe it was the pull of the moon (I don’t know), but condescension was running high. They seemed to look me in the face and ask boldly, “do you even know what you’re doing?” And my sense of importance in the workplace seemed to shatter a little more with each one. My patience was wearing to the threads. My voice was pitching on sticky sweet. And my pride was pulsing and prodding me to anger.

Have you ever felt the punch of someone’s pride, and felt your own rise in defense?

Lessons in humility are slowly advancing over my own pounding pride. The pride that goads me to spit the fire words and reign the victor. Though my pride often rises to my defense, it only infiltrates as my ally.

Pride is the enemy parading behind allied lines, acting mighty, but seeking to destroy.

Culture often speaks to us about pride, reminding us daily to fight our own battles, defend our own pride. We see this in the endless Twitter battles. The Facebook comments. The customer-service lines. And, honestly? We see it in ourselves.

Because it's hard to turn the other cheek while the other is still red and stinging. It’s hard to make ourselves nothing, when the other person really believes we are nothing. And yet, that’s what Jesus did.

I’ve been reading through the Proverbs, and I’m struck by how often the tongue is mentioned. The words that jab like a knife. The words that come quick without thought. It seems that our mouth and our heart are very close kin. Same vein. “For out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.” And so often those words are not humble. For me, anyway. Not the true, heart-humility.

Humility is willingly letting someone think that they are better than you, and being kind and loving to them anyway. It’s giving and giving and giving of the self. Jesus spent His whole life giving away, until the last drops were poured out on the cross. And then, when it seemed He had no more to give, He came back and loves us still. It’s an almost unfathomable humility. A total abandonment to God.

Because, in the end, humility has the abundant life stored away in Heaven, eternal riches. Pride lasts for a moment and then leaves us poorer than it found us. The cost of humility is little compared to the gain. Even though the cost seems so much in the moment.

Deep breath.

Deep belief.

So we’re praying, Holy God, walker of humility, let our lives reflect Your own.