Brave Surrender Page 12

  On the Sunday morning after the conference, Chris and I had been asked to lead worship at the church. Because it was small and couldn’t host the entire band, we were doing an acoustic set. Prior to the service, as Chris and I worked through the set list, this person interrupted our conversation and told us we should pick slower, softer songs. He explained that he led worship there most of the time and that because it was early, a lot of people would be tired, and it might be too much for them if we did the bigger songs.

  I thought this was a great moment to teach this young worship leader, and I gently tried to explain that worship leaders cannot cater to people’s sleepiness. We should instead try to help them engage with some exciting songs and encourage them to engage in praise and worship, despite how they may be feeling.

  A short time after we got back home, the church’s pastor sent emails to Banning and other leaders at our church that brought multiple accusations against me. The biggest lie was that I had “yelled” at this young man and said, “I’m not here to cater to you.” The pastor then emailed me, firing away with angry accusations. He said I had acted like a rock star and treated people very poorly. He never paused to ask any questions but assumed to know everything. I was devastated. I had never had something like this happen before. I had never been accused of the things he accused me of. It made me sick to my stomach to think that anyone would think such horrible things about me. I also felt every justice button inside me being pushed.

  From the time I was a little girl, I had a strong sense of right and wrong. In the recurring nightmare about Peter (my mom’s second husband), I was always standing between him and my sister, feeling a need to protect her. With Greg, I was the first to call out his behavior for what it was and tried to attack him in self-defense many times. There was an innate cry inside me for justice, a demand that when something is wrong, it should be made right.

  Thankfully, when this pastor made these accusations against me, my leaders at Bethel and Banning came to my defense and did not believe a word of it. In their experience, this was something you let roll off your shoulders and move on. But I couldn’t get over it so easily. I couldn’t stand the thought that such a person existed in the world who not only thought bad things about me but also vocalized those things to others.

  When I expressed this to Banning, he gently pointed out that I had a need inside me to please people. At first I balked at this suggestion. But as I took a hard, honest look at myself, I realized the reason this was so devastating was that I hated the idea of someone not liking me. The thought that I couldn’t please everyone—as ridiculous as this may sound—was deeply upsetting to me! Banning wanted to help me see that I needed to kill that thing inside me that wanted to please everybody, because it was sure to trip me up later on.

  But even after I acknowledged this people-pleasing need in me and asked God to set me free from it, I still felt anger connected to my need for justice. Furious thoughts churned through me whenever I thought about the wrong that had been done to me.

  How dare he! How dare this pastor act so carelessly and spew accusations! And did God do anything about it? No! He’s still a pastor and still speaking carelessly. This is just like my stepdads. Did God punish them for what they did to me? No, He did not! He doesn’t care about the injustices done to me!

  When I finally spoke these thoughts out loud, the word that stood out to me was punish. I wanted the people who hurt me to be punished, and I wanted God to punish them. Even after forgiving my stepdads and seeing how God had redeemed my story in spite of the wrongs they had done to me, deep down I still had an expectation that if God really loved me, He would execute justice by punishing those who had wronged me. I started to feel angry at God because I didn’t see Him punishing them.

  Skyler was so caring and gentle with me through all of this. It was such a new and wonderful experience to not have to face these things alone. He was defensive of me, cried with me, and empathized with me, and he also encouraged me toward Jesus. Most of all, he kept loving me through all the ups and downs of my emotions.

  At some point in the midst of this struggle, a man named John Arnott spoke at our church. While perusing his book table in the lobby, one of the titles of his books stood out to me: What Christians Should Know about the Importance of Forgiveness.

  I bought the book and read it in one sitting. Two things impacted me. The first was learning that there are layers to forgiveness. As God peels back one layer and walks you through forgiveness, you get a degree of healing. But down the road, God may use a situation to peel back another layer of pain and reveal something deeper that you may be holding on to, something that requires more forgiveness.

  I realized that I had forgiven Peter and Greg, but I hadn’t really let them off the hook. Forgiving them had set me free from a lot of pain, but deep down, I still believed they deserved to be punished. I had placed justice into God’s hands by forgiving them, but I still expected that His justice would look like punishing them at some point.

  As I reviewed the Bible’s teachings on forgiveness in Arnott’s book, however, I saw that this expectation was wrong. The Bible tells us, “As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us” (Psalm 103:12). When Jesus forgives us, He completely removes and forgets about our sin. “He does not treat us as our sins deserve” (Psalm 103:10). We are forgiven, and there is no punishment for us. That is the work of the cross. Jesus took away the curse and the punishment. His version of justice doesn’t focus on punishing wrongdoing, but on the restoration of what was lost or damaged by it.

  I thought about the pastor who had hurt me. If I was to truly forgive him, it was important that I relinquish my need for him to be punished for what he did. That meant forgiving him, blessing him, and releasing my anger. The entire experience was extremely frustrating, but I could see the kindness of Jesus as He used it to reveal something deeper in me that He wanted to work on. Because He loved me, He allowed the hurt to pull back another layer and expose the old wounds so I could step into greater healing and freedom. I finally saw that it was for my own benefit that He wanted me to forgive and bless the person who had caused me pain. Holding on to the anger only caused darkness and bitterness to grow in my heart, which would ultimately drive a wedge between me and God.

  The second thing John Arnott’s book clarified for me was that forgiveness doesn’t mean condoning the wrong done to you or the person’s poor behavior. I realized I believed that to forgive without demanding punishment was somehow waving a white flag and saying, “You win. It’s okay that you treated me that way.” That always felt so weak to me. I wanted to fight back to show that the way the person treated me was not okay and that they needed to pay. Yet once I saw the truth, it seemed so obvious that when Jesus forgives our sin, He is not telling us that what we have done is okay. He can only extend forgiveness to us because He paid the terrible price for our sin on the cross, and it’s on the basis of that sacrifice that He enables—and requires—us to extend forgiveness to others.

  As I began to realize how wrong my thinking had been, I processed it with Jesus. Stepping into a deeper level of forgiveness required me to surrender. Not the kind of surrender that waves a white flag to say I’m too worn down to fight, but rather the brave surrender. The surrender that requires me to lay down my own strength and trust in God’s. Our conversation went a little like this:

  “God, if I lay down my need for those who hurt me to be punished, it doesn’t mean that what they did is okay, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So, just to be clear, we are in agreement that what they did is wrong, correct?”

  “Kim, what they did was wrong. I’m sorry you were hurt.”

  “When I surrender this to You and release those who hurt me, You know for sure that I’m not saying that I agree with them, right?”

  “Do you trust Me?”

  “I trust You, God, but do I still get to be strong? Does surrendering and letting go mea
n that I’m weak?”

  “Are you relying on your strength or Mine? You are strong when you trust in Me and rely on My strength.”

  Ugh. And just like that, God broke through another layer of my old need to protect myself through control. It felt so important to me to be strong. My entire childhood I had to be strong for my mom and siblings. I had to be strong to be brave and defend myself. I had to be strong so fear would not cripple me. And it seemed to me that to trust in God, to surrender, to depend on His strength, to forgive those who hurt me, and to not demand punishment meant I could no longer be strong. I hated that!

  As I was pondering why this upset me so much, another lie was exposed—the lingering belief that no one can take care of me like I can. Part of me still thought I couldn’t really trust God with my heart and emotions.

  In the relationships with the abusive stepdads, I tried to be strong, but they had the power and control. I had projected those relationships onto God, thinking that if He had to be the strong one, it meant I had to be the weak one. In my mind, being weak meant I was susceptible to pain and hurt. When I thought about trusting in God’s strength to protect me, I couldn’t help thinking, What if He lets me down? What if He doesn’t come through for me? What if He doesn’t protect me? I don’t feel confident that He will do as good a job as I do in taking care of me.

  God gently and lovingly exposed these unhealthy thoughts and beliefs. He showed me that in a healthy relationship, both people can be strong. To trust God and depend on His strength didn’t mean I was weak and incapable. When I truly surrendered, I found that it felt so good and freeing to join my strength to His and not be facing everything alone.

  In the aftermath of this injustice, my world turned upside down once again in the most beautiful way by a Father who loved me too much to let me remain in my impaired condition. It was His love that met me right where I was, just as it had many times before, and surrounded me. His love was like a bumper, ensuring that no matter where I ran, I ran right into Him. It brought an assurance that made me feel like I could not fail. No matter how many times I have to sort through these kinds of issues, He’s going to make sure I come out on the other side.

  So I made a decision. I forgave the pastor who defamed me. I let go of my desire for punishment, and I blessed him. I forgave my stepdads again, but this time I said that I released them and would no longer demand that they pay for what they did. Admittedly, I still needed to remind myself daily that to release them was not to condone their actions. I also kept reminding myself that surrendering and trusting God were not acts of weakness but of strength, and that with Him, I not only can be strong, just the way He made me, but I am actually stronger when I trust in His strength and not in my own.

  Who Is My Enemy?

  Moving to San Francisco for our first year of marriage required me to step down from my role as a worship pastor at Bethel. In the year we were away, God brought in numerous, phenomenal worship leaders, and the team expanded. It was a dream I had longed to see, and it was so beautiful to watch it unfold. I really believe it is essential for me as a worship leader, and as a person who has walked through so much inner healing with Jesus, to raise up other worship leaders who will worship with boldness and passion. It was so encouraging to see the emerging of so many passionate worship leaders.

  When we moved back, I had no desire to disrupt what God was building, nor did I want to take away any opportunities for the new leaders. Unfortunately, my transition back to the worship department was awkward. The conversations that probably should have taken place to clarify where I’d fit in with the new roster of worship leaders and what was expected of me now that I was back on the team—but not as a worship pastor—never happened.

  As a result, I think the door was left open for people to have lingering questions like, Does Kim expect us to give her her job back? Does she expect things to run as they did before? If Kim steps back in to lead worship again, am I not going to get to lead as much? Even the fact that I didn’t want to lead worship as often stirred up questions. I had random people at church come up to me and ask if something was wrong and why I wasn’t leading anymore.

  In the midst of all the confusion, I tried to fight for relationship and make it clear that relationship was most important to me. But as the difficult dynamics continued, I began to give up and withdraw. Also, there were suddenly some stipulations that seemed to be necessary for me to be a part of the team, which made me uncomfortable. It felt as though those stipulations were coming from attempts to assert a degree of power and authority over me, not from a place of leading a family of worshipers. I withdrew further because of this.

  Unfortunately, people only saw me retreating and were left to make assumptions about what was going on, leading to misunderstandings about what was happening in my heart. They began to talk, and soon I found myself in another situation where I was being slandered. And this time, the talk didn’t just travel through private channels, but it became public on social media. Social media is an amazing tool for connecting with people, but it can also lead to the danger of allowing you to air out your thoughts without processing them, filtering them, and considering the feelings of the other side. In general, I don’t think it’s a good place to be when emotions are running high.

  I must have cried a million tears. I was heartbroken by what people were saying. I wanted to shout my side of the story from the mountaintops and blog it on every social media platform to defend myself and my reputation. The betrayal felt so incredibly painful, especially because it was coming from people close to me. The accusation that had been made was that I had “gone rogue” and was “outside of covering.” The allegation implied that I wouldn’t allow any leadership to speak into my life and that I wasn’t faithfully attending church.

  When Skyler and I sat in a room with the people making the accusations, they disclosed that they had gone to other leaders around the world and shared their opinions and frustrations about me, and that these leaders agreed with them. My husband, like the true defender and hero he is, went to battle for me, confronted the people involved, and demanded an apology. After all, it was his wife and her honor being called into question. But at every turn, we were met with resistance, and eventually we realized that we were unlikely to get the apology we were hoping for. We slowly realized that like many churches, there had been small offenses built up over time, but not enough communication to work through it all.

  There was a day when the pain of the whole situation became so acute that all I could do was curl up in a ball on the floor of my bedroom and cry out to Jesus.

  “Why am I here again?” I asked Him. “Why am I being hurt for no reason? Why is no one making this right?”

  “Kim, I love you so much,” I heard Jesus reply. “I am creating a foundation inside you that is strong enough to hold up everything I have for you. I will take every opportunity, including this one, to grow you and teach you.”

  This response didn’t sound very appealing. I didn’t want to grow anymore. It was so painful! Couldn’t I just be done with growing? Hadn’t I grown enough?

  “Why are you running away?” Jesus asked.

  Of course, every time Jesus asks a question, I know I’m about to learn something. He undoubtedly knows the answer, but He’s wanting me to catch on to a valuable lesson.

  Through choking sobs, I responded, “Because I’m hurt. I’m scared and angry, and I don’t want to be around those people anymore.”

  “But who is your enemy?”

  “They are!” I shouted.

  “Kim, who is your enemy?”

  Obviously my first answer wasn’t the one He was looking for. Jesus was shining a light into a dark corner of my heart and illuminating something I didn’t see.

  I realized that I, like so many, had really high expectations of the church and the people in it. Most of the time, the church falls far short of those expectations. I had forgotten that the church is comprised of humans, just like me—humans bound in
lies they believe, humans trapped in pain and insecurity, and humans who make bad decisions. When one of them hurt me, I wanted to run away, find another church, or just avoid church altogether. In my pain, I was mistaking them for my enemy instead of remembering that people are not the enemy. I have one enemy, and it is the same one Jesus defeated once and for all when He died on the cross and rose to life the third day.

  Tears filled my eyes as I repented for making people my enemy. Realizing the enemy’s strategy brought a fresh surge of determination to fight back, but at the right target and in the right way. The enemy wanted to take me out and use relationships close to me to do it. I made the decision in my heart right then and there that I would never allow him to use relationships to try to destroy me again. I determined that one of my core values would be to fight for relationship with the people God put in my life and to cling to my community.

  I could tell that Jesus fully backed me in this decision, but He wanted to drive its importance home even further. “Kim, you make yourself more susceptible to the enemy’s lies and attacks when you remove yourself from community,” He explained. “You become angry, hurt, and bitter and put distance between you and what you believe to be your enemy [the church]. The isolation and disconnection from people just invite the enemy to whisper lies that keep you bound.”

  His words strengthened my resolve to move forward with a total commitment to keeping my heart clean of all offense, bitterness, and disconnection. Once again, I needed to forgive and let go of any desire for punishment—to protect my connection with Jesus and stay out of confusion and deception that would lead me to fight the wrong battle. I was determined to forgive, love, and to move on.

  Of course, as time went on, this commitment to forgive and love was tested repeatedly. Situations arose that stirred up the pain again and put me in a position of having to choose how to engage it. Sometimes a person would come to me and say, “Kim, I heard so-and-so say this-or-that about you. Why would they do that?” On other occasions, the slanderous accusations were completely ignored by those who had heard them, and in a social setting, they felt like a giant elephant in the room.