The day of the belt ceremony finally arrived.
We sat on rubber mats, criss-cross-applesauce, all wearing our gis, staring at the coaches and the table lined with new belts. The kiddos took up the front rows, bouncing with energy—they were the most eager, after all. One by one their names were called, some for belts and some for stripes, but each representing a step up in rank.
When Coach has finished tying grey and yellow belts to tiny waists, he calls my three kiddos up again. I wonder why he’s doing that. He points out to the crowd of parents how our family all trains together and I think, aww this is special. He follows up by asking my kids how it feels to outrank their mom, they smile with proud eyes and puff their chests a little. I laugh—my white belt snugly wrapped around my waist.
"But," Coach says smiling, “that ends today. Come on up Amber!”
Wait…what?!
I’m a white belt, I’m still very spazzy! Panic sets in. He’s holding a blue belt! A blue belt.
I realize I’m supposed to get up, so I stand, my knees shaky as I walk around the seated crowd who are now clapping and cheering.
My heart is pounding. I look desperately at him, “Coach, are you sure??!! I don’t think I’m ready.”
He smiles and starts wrapping the blue belt around me, “that’s why you don’t decide and coaches do. You’re ready.” He snugs the knot, looks up with another reassuring smile (because he sees I’m still in shock) and wraps me in a hug.
I can’t believe it.
I’m thrilled (I think) but also incredibly overcome with the meaning of what just happened. My heart is still recovering and my thoughts are swirling, but latch onto one: I’m not good enough.
There’s so much I still don’t know and so many skills I don’t do well. In comparison with others, I’m not as strong or fluid.
Each of my excuses mounts a case against me. I’m my own prosecutor.
It’s not a far stretch to realize this is a role I take on in other areas of my life too.
Like with my husband—How could he be so kind after I coughed out those words in anger? I don’t deserve him.
With my kiddos—I should’ve been more patient, more gracious.
Within my church—She does such a good job with that, I don’t even come close.
We feel unworthy in the roles God has given us, undeserving of the good he provides. We feel ashamed, doubtful of our value and worth.
So how do we live faithfully in Christ in the throes of emotional upheaval when we feel unworthy?
Who we are
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Cor. 5:17).
Though we constantly build a case against ourselves, the Lord does not.
The gospel reminds us we are crafted in the image of God, and our sin has tainted God's good design. Since the garden we wrestle, itch and search for contentment, satisfaction and peace in the world and in ourselves, our abilities, our strength, our knowledge.
The world, the flesh and the devil lure our hearts and minds to entangle us, but, “we have died and our life is now hidden with Christ in God” (Col. 3:3). The demands of a holy God to right the wrong of sin is perfection, a feat we could never achieve. Yet, out of God’s love and mercy, he sent the Son to be that perfect sacrifice for us.
Receiving the grace of God in our imperfections and our sin means accepting the gift he offers right into the depth of our souls, by understanding our need for the ongoing work of the Spirit, to view ourselves rightly as those in need of help yet already being sustained in the Lord’s sovereign hand through relationship with him.
Our communion with God is more like a motorized fishing boat than a canoe. The canoe depends on the paddlers to get where they’re going, whereas the engine of a fishing boat pushes it across the water. The Lord is our motor, though we participate alongside him, and our friendship with him, “is simply a matter of being who you are, living your daily life with an ever-increasing awareness of your true identity and the purpose of your salvation.” [1]
Understanding the narratives we create
“For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ” (Gal. 1:10)
Unworthiness becomes not just the feeling of shame, but the framework for belief.
We feel like we must work harder, be more spiritual, look a specific way before we deserve the love and forgiveness of God. Somehow along the way we’ve forgotten the grace of God in our salvation, or misunderstood that it’s a one-time offer to “get saved” and that it’s all sweat and hard work after.
In our roles as wives, mothers, and professionals, we don't believe we're good enough. We’ve created the narrative of perfection, laced with a plot of expectations we’ve conjured up from comparison and culture. We look to measure ourselves against the woman next door or behind us in the pew, lining them up as witnesses against us.
Why do we do that?
Our erroneous expectations to be what’s best in everyone else sets us on a downward spiral, not upward—seeking the things of the world rather than those of our Savior, namely success and pride. The invitation of the gospel is leaning into him “who saved us and called us to a holy calling, not because of our works but because of his own purpose and grace, which he gave us in Christ Jesus before the ages began” (2 Tim. 1:9).
We stay in our lane, pursuing the call given us by God, just as Paul encouraged the church “let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, and to which God has called him” (1 Cor. 7:17). Keeping the creativity of God in mind as we reflect on our own unique skills and abilities and celebrate those of others, so we each pursue a life that emanates the glory of God.
Learning to live with purpose
“But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” (1 Pet. 2:9).
Culture teaches us to respond to feelings of unworthiness by focusing on our self-worth, on what we deserve.
But, our self-reliance is how we got here in the first place.
Rather than pulling up our bootstraps, instead of crushing it harder, striving to be like others or trying to measure up to perfectionist standards in vain, the gospel washes a healing balm over our hearts, to take away the distractions around us and live by faith.
The New City Catechism asks, “What is faith in Jesus Christ?”
The short answer: “Faith in Jesus Christ is acknowledging the truth of everything that God has revealed in his Word, trusting in him, and also receiving and resting on him alone for salvation as he is offered to us in the gospel” (Q.30).
So our faith rests in dependance on Christ and believing God’s Word to us. Our purpose is to know him and love him, which spurs on our actions of goodness to those around us. Even though our reach in the world may seem small, we live faithfully in the roles and relationships he’s given us.
I walk through the gym doors for. class. I step onto the mat with a blue belt tied around my waist. I won’t deny the anxious feelings that still arise sometimes. But when I’m small in my own eyes, I’ll remember the gospel and reflect on God’s grace and his greatness. Because I'm saved, through faith, and it's not from anything I've done—or will do—it is a gift of God (Eph. 2:8).
I’ll work hard. I’ll make mistakes. I’ll keep believing that even in my ordinary day, he has plans and purposes to work both in and through me, for his glory and the good of others.
How will you remember the gospel to encourage you when you feel unworthy?
[1] Mike McKinley, Friendship With God: A Path to Deeper Fellowship, ch.11
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