Discovering who we are inevitably leads us to discovering the reality that we're not who we desire to be - at least in ways.  Shame and guilt over past sin or current struggles can paralyze us....completely.  We feel separated from God, the people of God and the things of God.

We have to understand, though, that shame creeps in because we wrongly identify ourselves in sinful actions/tendency/behavior.  At it's core this misplacement of our identity is because we view ourselves as bodies that have a soul versus a soul that has a body.  

It may seem like a matter of semantics, but it's not at all.  It's an entirely different identity.  If we view ourselves as a body that continues to sin and do what we ought not - cf. Romans 7:18 - we inevitably end with feelings of shame and guilt.  However, if we view ourselves biblically and through Christ as a soul that has been made new, our identity is beyond our fleshly limitations and actions.  This is important to understand because our identity, then, is not found in sin, but instead in who God has made us to be spiritually (cf. Ephesians 1:3-14).

I wasn’t there, but I heard. And it made me really sad. At a well-to-do Christian conference, a brave young soul had the courage to ask two prominent women in today’s Christian circles their thoughts for those who struggle with masturbation. Both speakers got flustered, eyeing each other with the look of, “Did she really just ask that in public? And how are we supposed to respond?”

After some awkward moments, one of the women said, “Umm, honestly, I don’t know if I can say "the m word"…it just feels so…beyond me. Granted, I’m a married woman, but I’ve just never understood why people do that.” At this point, she turned to the other speaker and asked if she had anything to add.

“No…definitely not. Just keep yourselves pure from it and God will protect you.”

Picture yourself naked.  In public.  What do you feel?  Exposed?  Self-conscious?  Ashamed?

Adam and Eve knew what it was like to feel this way.  They also knew what it was like to feel something else entirely.  Or perhaps what they also knew shouldn’t be described as a feeling at all.  Perhaps they simply had a lack of awareness of the fact that something was wrong with them, because nothing was wrong with them at first.

They lived in the garden and walked among the trees and made their home there, all while being naked.  Moses tells us:  “The man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed” (Gen 2:25).  But then something changed.  They were tempted, they sinned, they knew they were naked, and they hid.  All of a sudden, the freedom they had in relationship with God and one another was consumed by an overwhelming awareness of self.  And what they knew about themselves caused them to hide.

"What gives you hope?" It was the question that started it all. Last Thursday I spoke at a venue to women and men who had a passion for working with young adults. I talked about the retreats and workshops I lead, but mainly about creating safe spaces for women to heal from a culture of unrealistic expectations of perfection. By introducing different self-care and contemplative tools, women have awakened to the grace and hope inside of them.  Fueled by the Holy Spirit a revolution is beginning in their souls.

 The gentleman who asked the question sincerely continued, "I mean this problem is so epidemic. If you talk to any woman you meet -- it's everywhere." As I weighed this question in my heart, I began to tear up.  Very slowly I started to talk about how it would be so much easier for me to stop talking about the disease of perfection, have a kid, go on a diet and meet the culture's and church's expectations of me as a married woman of four and a half years. My hope is not in the fact that I could live a "nice" life. (Not saying that people who choose that life are bad, that is just not what I am called to). I wanted to explain my story so I was careful to choose my words about my husband's and my choice to question whether or not we want kids. That's our life. I don't force or project this agenda on anyone. So it caught me off guard when a 50-something white male raised his hand in my pausing after I had just started explaining where my hope lies and said, "I have a thought."

He visited today. In a refreshingly different, but still awful way than before.
Different in that I recognized him, and awful in that recognizable, or not, he still exudes awfulness—like a whispering ghost, criticizing my every move.

I saw his face—I felt his disdain.
He sunk into my cracks of anger and asked me to hate.
He gaped at my dancing strands of hope and told them to stop.

He mocked my sadness.
Marked my weakness.
Masked my gladness.
And raped my good.

He marveled at my tears saying, Don’t stop. There are always more reasons to flow. He rocked my exhuastion saying, I’m glad to find you. I’m glad to remind you of your name. He grabbed me by the hand, wanting to lead me back into his dark,