Luke Brasel Counseling

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  • Two Questions Will Change Your Life

    Two Questions Will Change Your Life

    Two simple questions can and will change your life:

    1. How is my life working for me?
    2. How is my life working for the people around me?

    We must ask both questions. We must.

    But wisdom leads us to ask them from a healthy heart.

    Both questions, asked and acted upon from an emotionally and spiritually unhealthy heart, will ruin your life (and the lives of your loved ones and community).

    Both questions, asked and acted upon from an emotionally and spiritually healthy heart, will save your life (and the lives of your loved ones and community).

  • Be Still

    Be Still

    “My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him all good things-trout as well as eternal salvation-come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy.” – Norman Maclean

    “The quiet scares me ’cause it screams the truth” – Pink

    Fishing is one of the easiest places to accept silence and solitude. In many ways it is the quiet and stillness which make it an experience more than just an activity. Even now, somewhere in a mountain valley, a fly-fisherman immerses himself into the river as the once-snow now water rushes over the rocks and over his boots. The wind blows. Every now and then a fish jumps and the splash offers hope. The fisherman turns to notice, smiles, and whips his arm through the air to cast again.

    It is quiet and stillness that invite the angler to surrender to the art of his craft: art because it is an experience and art because a true fisherman does not manipulate a catch. As Herbert Hoover said, “All men are equal before fish.”

    The angler can lure and invite and coax with the sweep of the line and a dry fly but the trout rises when it and only it decides.

    Just like our heart.

    A woman left my counseling office, and I sat down as usual to make a few notes from our session. For this particular appointment, my scribblings were less about my client and more a caution to myself. Be careful, Luke. With an inclination to see who people are and who they could become, desire and hope tempt me to rush the process.

    I will fail. Every time.

    So as a reminder, I wrote, “This will be her work; not stirring up the past, but rather learning to sit with herself and letting the past rise as it needs to.”

    People often make this mistake: We think we must manufacture our own healing process by forcing ourselves to feel painful emotions from the past. What if the attempt to manufacture past emotions is not necessary?

    Memories do inevitably surface, but they are not the point of healing. The danger in making remembering the goal is that people force themselves to grab a shovel and hack away at buried stories.

    Practically, this means someone sits on my couch and wanders through their memory bank trying to pick the right story to talk about. Or it means knowing the pain that wants to remain buried and finding every reason to resist its resurfacing. Neither of these approaches accomplish very much. On a deeper note, grabbing and digging only bring violence to what lies dormant precisely because of harm and toxic-shame. Buried stories are buried for a reason.

    If digging and hacking are our approach to our story, we will not recover our heart. Instead we remain stuck. Stalled. Lifeless. Bored. And alone.

    Counseling is not primarily about digging up the past or forcing ourselves to feel our pain; counseling is about learning how to be. Being is an art, as much art as anything ever painted or composed.

    In the art of being, we are lost.

    All of us have a “be” problem. We do not know how to be human. We forgot a long time ago. (And by the way, it takes a lifetime to learn and relearn how to be. Good counseling simply helps facilitate restoration along the way.)

    The painful story of our heart stands in the way of learning how to be, and we cannot practice or learn the art of being without engaging our past. Wrapped in toxic-shame, the past wants to stay buried, and it will as long as we want it to. Our heart will only be willing to face our story when it is ready, and nothing you or I do against our heart speeds up the process. We cannot force growth or microwave healing.

    So we must learn to slow down. Instead of stirring up the past, we learn to sit still. While there is no formula to healing, there is a context. In the presence of stillness, love, and truth:

    Our heart rises.

    Our story rises.

    Our truth rises.

    We must come to our story like an angler with his fly rod on the river. While his rod sweeps back and forth through the air and the fly hits the water, he cannot make the fish rise. He cannot yell, order, or instruct the trout. The fish, like our heart, rises when it is ready. The angler can only set the mood. Silence and patience invite the fish, along with the artful swoop of the fly.

    To angle for our heart, we seek stillness in the presence of love and truth.

    None of these come easily. Stillness is a process. And love and truth can feel scarcer than a secretly stocked fishing hole. But we need them. Our path of healing requires people who seek to bless us with their presence and truth spoken in love. It is in this kind of relationship we are invited and freed to learn how to be still.

    Even in the midst of truth and love, though, being still takes grace, patience, and practice. As we learn stillness, we open ourselves to healing relationship.

    God seems to speak to this in Psalm 46.

    “Be still,” He says, “and know that I am God.”

    I wonder about different ways we can look at this verse. Might the contrast be, If you cannot be still then you cannot know I am God. Or, if you cannot be still, you cannot know me in a personal way as God. I could wonder about him as a higher power or Creator, but not God in all of his personality, character, and love. To know God as Father. To know Jesus as friend. To know the Spirit as counselor and comforter.

    To know God, I must be still. To know myself, I must be still. And quite possibly they go together. If I learn to be still, the truth of my story rises and the silence invites and leads me to cry out for God. Eventually in the mess of the truth of my emotions, I find God, not in spite of the feelings, but through their leadership.

    But if I never slow myself and allow the truth to rise, I miss out on both. I do not get the joy and pain of knowing myself, and I lose my need for God.

    We need God, and we start with our desire and pain.

    In your pain, know you do not have to manufacture your own healing process. There is no need to hack away at past memories or buried shame. Instead trust the story locked inside of you wants to rise. Trust the kinder parts of your heart will only let enough of your past surface at a time, only the amount you can take in the moment and not enough to drown you.

    Again, our heart will be ready when it is ready. We learn to sit with ourselves in the presence of love and truth, and our past rises little by little.

    We simply show up in the process, open and curious. This is the posture of the heart in the presence of healing relationship. We come palms up, as Bob Goff says. The opposite- arms crossed and fists clenched- tightens our body and closes us off from what memories and emotions our honest being invites. Palms up leads our body to open our heart to engage our reality.

    If you want to heal, if you want to learn the art of you, commit yourself to learn how to be. Just be.

    Present. Still. Palms up, even. Full of desire rather than demand. Open. Known. Humble. Curious.

    And your heart and story will rise, not wildly or in haste, but softly, like a quiet splash in the mountain stream as a fish hits the fly.

  • What do you battle today?

    What do you battle today?

    Be kind for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

    At the end of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Frodo boards a ships and sails off into the glowing horizon. I cannot envision the scene without hearing Annie Lennox sing,

    Lay down
    Your sweet and weary head
    The night is falling
    You have come to journey’s end
    Sleep now

    Frodo and his fellowship of warriors have destroyed the ring and ended evil’s reign. The war cost them all, but perhaps none as uniquely as Frodo. Not only does his physical strength dwindle, but he has also lost part of his soul.

    He fought his battle and won, but he cannot go back to life as it was. He cannot go home to the Shire. Instead an adventure of recovery and restoration awaits him as he steps onto the ship.

    As I watch Frodo sail away, I am envious. He has little left to do but rest.

    While we may be ready to rest, the nature of life this side of heaven is battle, tension, and struggle.

    I would rather sail away. And I try, in small ways. One way, I suppose, is simply the attempt to check off all of my to-do’s for the day. I can achieve euphoria if I can see my daily tasks disappear. Gmail encourages my fantasy- When I clear my inbox, a picture of a woman at the beach appears. The sun shines above her, and she reads on the beach without a care in the world.

    The experience is, of course, an illusion. Every day invites us to awaken and face our battles, because struggle is wired into the DNA of every moment in this world. Even the woman on the beach must battle the sun with sunscreen or she will pay later. Every moment extends to us a struggle of some sort.

    The real question is this: What are you doing with the struggles that confront you?

    To deny or decline our battles is to create a false reality. And our emotional and spiritual health hinges on our willingness and ability to live in reality.

    I will always long for smooth sailing; I will never cease strategizing ways to calm the waters in my life. And yet all of this comes from the fantasy that smooth sailing is a reality this side of heaven. It isn’t. And if I am aware of the heart journeys in the people I love most, including myself, there is the need to always stay present to this question: What are my battles today?

    What are your battles now? Keep this question present, always.

    Let it invite and usher you into reality.

  • The War Against You

    The War Against You

    How does it end when the war that you’re in is just you against you against you? – Andrew Peterson

    “Love your neighbor as yourself”

    I read this verse, and I cringe. To love my neighbor as myself would put me in jail or close to it.

    I am not kind to myself.

    By love, I think Jesus assumes we know how to obsess over our basic needs for survival. I do need to be aware of my neighbor’s needs as I am my own. But to treat my neighbor the way I internally treat myself? Jesus knows better than that. We barely like ourselves, much less treat our heart and story with empathy, grace, forgiveness, and love.

    I am learning this very slowly.

    One evening I walked to my car. The sky had turned a deep, dark blue. Enough light allowed me to peer into the car window to see a face staring back. The man, if I can call him that, had a beard with traces of white wisdom that threatened its rich color. His face showed more age and less youth. Weathered skin surrounded his eyes, and while I could not see their blue, there was a centeredness and rootedness to them. My glasses made me look like a counselor, or a writer, or someone worthy of respect. I am starting to like that guy, I thought.

    The thought of liking myself surprised me. It certainly is a newer idea.

    Fifteen years ago I would have opened the door quickly in hopes that no one in the parking lot would notice me.

    Ten years ago I would not have had time to think about my reflection; I would have ignored it and rushed off to work.

    Five years ago I would have seen my reflection and entered the car to avoid my own disappointment and criticism.

    If we dare listen, this deeply human question lingers daily: Do I love myself?

    I heard this long ago, but it sounded silly at the time. Wouldn’t it make more sense to get on with life, serve God and others, and be productive? People insist on this regularly in my office.

    A friend of mine shared that his counselor encouraged him to place framed pictures of himself around his apartment. In his kitchen. In the bathroom. In the living room on both ends of the couch. On the bar. In his bedroom. To be honest, it sounded a bit hokey.

    Now years into my journey with shame, I am beginning to understand. (Free advice: If the idea of looking at personal photos excites you, you might be a narcissist. But for those of us who tend to look with disdain at our own eyes and face, it is a warranted exercise.)

    Until we recognize how our shame handicaps us from being and offering who we are in relationship and calling, we will never understand the importance of loving (or liking) ourselves. We must journey into our shame if we are ever to love with and from a full heart.

    A few items you will need for your journey:

    • Willingness to feel and name shame.
    • Passion and courage to tell the truth about what is happening inside of you.
    • Humble faith God cares about your restoration more than you do.
    • Allies of the heart to remind you you are not alone, who provide hope from their own experience.
    • Vision for the man or woman you were made to be.
    • Grace. More grace. And more grace.

    Anyone who journeys into their own heart cannot help but find toxic-shame has shackled it. The shackling made sense at one time in our story. Captivity in shame’s grasp shielded us from further hurt and pain. But while this shame-laced protection looked like life and felt safe, it created relational death, isolation, and the burden of self-contempt. We wake up years later to learn our shame no longer aids us (It never fully did).

    Until we face it, our self-contempt will only lock us down. The invitation to journey into it extends to us all, but the path is taken by too few.

    Why? For one, because we must start with our own face, the very last place we want to look. When we look into our eyes, we sense our shame.

    To live and love well, we must own this shame. We begin to own it when we face our own face, eye our own eyes, and try to love who we have tried to avoid since the first moment shame arrested us.

    It is no small or short journey. In fact, it takes all of your heart and a lifetime.

    Will you join me?

  • Looking for Connection in Darkness

    Looking for Connection in Darkness

    A few weeks back, I posted several parts of a series on engaging our heart in the midst of temptation. I intended to follow them up sooner, but time got away until now. When the context of our life tempts us to react impulsively to do things we do not want to do, we can slow the momentum down with a process that accesses the heart. Here are four steps that build on each other.

    1) What am I feeling? (Click here)
    2) Canoe Down a River (Click here)
    3) What is it I am really looking for? (Click here)

    4) Looking for Connection in Darkness
    We are not made to journey alone. Toxic-Shame, the feeling which plagues all of us, would have us believe otherwise. How is it we can feel immense safety and connection with a friend in one moment and fall into isolation and fear of exposure the next? When temptation confronts us, our immediate impulse is to hide. Then shame begets shame. We often have shame about that which tempts us, and then shame keeps us from naming our need and reaching out for help. Shame, and then shame, and then more shame. Sound familiar?

    Hopefully the previous steps helped. But even if we have processed our feelings, denied ourselves and turned away, and sought out core desires, we still may need another connection. It may be time to call a friend, counselor, or pastor. In some circles, this is called accountability, a word that can conjure up different connotations. For some it represents hope, friendship, and help. For others, it represents an experience of sterile relationships whose sole responsibility is to check up on fellow sinners to keep behavior in line.

    Don’t get me wrong: Good behavior matters. But heart transformation through struggle and being known in relationship matters more.

    From humanity’s first wrong decision until this moment, this has always been true. Most Christians know Genesis 3 as the record of the first sin and paradise lost, but fewer recognize it as God highlighting His desire to relate with us. In Genesis 3, Adam and Eve choose to give into the temptation of self-reliance, neglecting their responsibility to walk in trust with God. And then God comes looking for them. But what is the state of His heart as He comes? This is the crucial moment that will change the trajectory of hope for you and me. Is God the warden coming to take the guilty captive? Is God the rageful father insistent on exposure and punishment? We might guess this to be Adam and Eve’s fear by their choice to hide themselves. Or is God curious and vulnerable- saddened, hurt, and angry because He cares- the father we long for?

    God’s first response to human darkness is not correction or shame. Rather He asks a question which engages the heart, “Where are you?”

    That they are known appears to be as important as what they have done.

    The omniscient and omnipresent God knows where they hide; He needs no help in finding them. Rather it is they who need help finding themselves. The Great Counselor offers His help. While God embodies righteousness and justice, it is His curiosity and grace He extends first. In doing so, He gives us the beginnings of the blueprint for relationship in a fallen world.

    If we are to live from and connected to the heart, this must become our model of accountability, connection, and friendship. A known heart most often moves toward goodness; an unknown heart finds refuge in darkness.

    Calling a friend in a moment of temptation is less about keeping us in line and more about being known in our humanity. If we can adopt or shift toward this perspective, a world of life, freedom, and change becomes possible.

    Dallas Willard pondered, “I wonder how much wrath in human life is a result of not being heard.”

    The last thing any of us want to be is alone. In response, with deep and simple wisdom, Alcoholics Anonymous utilizes the role of the sponsor. When the demand for a drink takes over the alcoholic, help in the form of “you are not alone” is a call away. But too often we choose isolation, and temptation strikes strongest when we find ourselves disconnected.
    Alone.
    Alone with our vulnerability.
    Alone with our secrets.
    Alone with our cravings and demands.
    Alone with our toxic-shame.
    Alone with our displaced longing for life.
    Alone with the illusion we can manipulate life to provide the control, comfort, and power we crave.

    We need allies of the heart who will not only listen with unconditional acceptance, but also keep vision of who we are and who we could be. We need friends who know their own weaknesses which enables them to handle ours. We need friends clued in to the struggle of living present in a broken world. Finding people like this is not necessarily easy, and it may sound downright impossible. One thing is certain: until we begin seeking them out, we likely will not find them.

    Allies of the heart do exist. In dark moments when we have lost ourselves, we need them most. And these are the words we need to hear, “Thank you for calling me. This temptation, this struggle you face is real. But it does not define you. I know the real you, the deeper you, the good heart beneath the ugly. I see you fighting hard, and I am proud of your courage to ask for help. I’m with you. You are not alone.”

     

  • What am I looking for?

    What am I looking for?

    Over the last two weeks I have posted the first two parts in a series on possible responses to temptation. When the context of life tempts us to react impulsively, we can slow the momentum down with a process that engages the heart.

    1) What am I feeling? (link to Part 1)
    2) Canoe Down a River (link to Part 2)

    3) What is it I am really looking for?

    “And I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.” – U2

    None of us this side of heaven have found what we are looking for. None of us. The whole grass is always greener thing tricks us into believing our neighbor has his lawn and his life figured out. But none of us do, and none of us have found the key to make it work.

    Sadly, and scarier too, is that few of us even know exactly what we are looking for. Happiness might be the easiest or most popular answer, but happiness can be as cheap as beer. And after that bottle or pack or night, we are left searching yet again. But for what?

    In our search for life, one thing burns as true and sure as the sun: Desire and demand compete within us, but the latter will ruin us until we learn to live well in the former.

    If you are reading this in the midst of temptation, hopefully you are in your canoe by now (read part 2: Canoe Down a River). Your time in the canoe is meant to expose this part of you: the part which incessantly searches and longs. In the early paddling, the memory of that which tempted you remains strong. It creates a physical, emotional tug not easily disposed. But over time, the craving subsides, and you find yourself alone with an emptiness. The desire for beauty, life, control, power, and comfort remains, but the ability to act on it no longer stands as an option. In this wilderness of your heart, without access to the fantasy or false-promise of life, your demand becomes exposed and you have the chance instead to embrace something much healthier and full of dignity: your desire.

    It has been said, “Every man who enters a brothel is looking for God.”

    Now this is a deeper, soulful wisdom we didn’t learn in Sunday school; it is a unique window into the soul of temptation. For the sake of clarity, I make a distinction between desire (healthy design) and demand (unhealthy). Desire tells the aforementioned man he is a sexual being made to experience beauty, sex, and physical and relational connection. Demand tells the man he is entitled to go find and create satisfaction on his terms. What is lost between the transition from desire to demand is that which he is really looking for in his pursuit: God.

    We can all take the quotation above and personalize it:

    Every man or woman who enters/pursues/demands ________ is looking for God.

    What offers you the momentary but false illusion of pleasure, security, or power? You fill in the blank. Co-dependance. Addictions. Sex. Religion. Success and recognition. Food. Relationships. Control. Money.

    Here’s the thing: It is not there. What you are looking for is not in whatever tempts your heart. The man who enters the brothel, or you who chase whatever it is you chase, will not find the life you prize in that which tempts you. But until you know this, know in the deepest sense, you will fight to turn your canoe around.

    C.S. Lewis puts it like this:

    “The [things] in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things…are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.”

    The longing underneath the longing is good. Healthy desire exists under every temptation. But demand mixes with desire and leaves us lost and confused, intent to depend on instincts that seem right at the time. We so ache for Life and so fear we will never find it fully that we cease our seeking and waiting for God and instead place our longing on anyone or anything that reflects his comfort, control, and power. We give up our search for the flower, for the tune we have not heard, and for the country not yet visited because we cannot embrace longing as our friend.

    But if we can befriend longing and give up demand, we stand a chance to live well amidst temptation.
    When demand threatens to overpower us to do what we do not want to do, we must get into the habit of asking ourselves what we are really looking for. Filter out healthy desire from unhealthy demand. Find the way back to trust and longing. And then speak tenderly to your heart: The reality is that what I am looking for is not in him or her or it.

    The ultimate answer to the life we desire will never be found in the person or thing which tempts us. We must surrender to this truth. It is our only hope when our mind, body, and heart scream otherwise: You must have what you want! (Even if it means violating the boundaries of another).

    No. The answer is not there.
    The answer is not there.
    The answer is not there.

    So what or who am I really seeking?
    What is it my soul actually desires?

  • Canoe Down a River

    Canoe Down a River

    In the Midst of Temptation (Part 2)
    Last week I posted part one (link to read) of a series on engaging our heart well in the midst of temptation. When the context of our life tempts us to react impulsively, we would do well to slow the process down by asking ourselves: What am I feeling?

    One simple question can create space for our core emotions to surface. This temporary pause may be all we need to detach from temptation. Often, though, our heart requires we go deeper. If an emotional check-in leads to introspective curiosity, or if you simply cannot shake what tempts you, it’s time to grab a paddle and find a canoe.

    Canoe Down a River
    In Iron John, Robert Bly speaks to men tempted by the fantasy of relationship with what he calls the Woman with Golden Hair. She is any woman who a man sees and dreams up this fantasy: That woman will complete and fulfill me. To the tempted Bly says,

    “What does it mean when a man falls in love with a radiant face across the room? It may mean that he has some soul work to do. His soul is the issue. Instead of pursuing the woman and trying to get her alone, away from her husband, he needs to go alone himself, perhaps to a mountain cabin, for three months, write poetry, canoe down a river, and dream. That would save some women a lot of trouble.”

    Bly’s wisdom applies to a wider audience, not only to men tempted by the fantasy of a dream woman. Any of us who fantasize and lust after false comfort, power, and control need to pay attention.
    Maybe, if you’re like me, you do not have three months to spend at a mountain cabin. Maybe you don’t have time to canoe the river by your home, either. But we can all find our own version of a metaphorical canoe. Regardless, I need time in the canoe might become words we adopt and employ to rescue our heart from danger.

    The canoes we choose will look different. One man might go for a run while another pulls out his journal. A woman may go for a drive while another plays music that speaks to her aching heart. I used to exercise when I needed clarity of heart and mind. Now that I have kids and more responsibility, canoeing down a river can simply look like stepping onto the back porch to inhale and exhale, watch the trees wave in the breeze, and hope the neighborhood fox runs by.

    The point is this: What activity allows your soul to breathe and invites you to reflect? What invites you back to you, the real you? In the midst of temptation, we forget who we are. Our heart demands a rewarding yet false experience of counterfeit control, power, and comfort, and this feels safer than abstaining. Abstinence leaves us empty, we think. But Jesus reminds us,

    “You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.” (Matthew 5:4, MSG)

    Wisdom requires we find the way back to our soul and the heart of God. We need rescue from the matrix of life that deadens our senses and lies about what is true and good.

    Time in the canoe is not simply about keeping you from the object or behavior you demand; it is also about time on the water. Your heart, both the murky and dark parts as well as the glorious, redeemed, and dignified parts, awaits your discovery. In the midst of temptation, though, we do not have awareness of our darkness or the good heart within us. We need space. Seek the wilderness and the space it provides.

    Whatever form your canoe takes, may it lead to a wilderness where you can be alone with yourself and God. Alone on the water, look over the edge of the canoe to see finally the reflection of who needs your attention.

    You, like all of us, have some soul work to do.

  • In the Midst of Temptation (Part 1)

    In the Midst of Temptation (Part 1)

    Temptations confront us daily. The mental and emotional passageways of our heart flood with ideas and possibilities we would rather have kept dammed. In the worst cases, the torrent overflows into the physical realm as we act on our temptations. In these moments, our actions actually seem reasonable to us, largely because temptation beckons us to blind ourselves from wisdom, self-control, and often reality.

    We enter into the tunnel of our vision, our mind blind to the world outside of that which has our attention. Reality and relational cost are lost outside of it. “It”, whatever or whoever it is, promises gratification, likely in some form of comfort, control, or power.

    This is temptation.

    It could be lust, greed, deceit, or envy, but it could also come in less popular forms: manipulation, control, overpowering others, shying away from responsibility, criticism, or the urge to experience false intimacy. There is no end to the ways we are tempted to live less than God made us to be, relying on our own power to manage our life and maneuvering relationships to meet our needs.

    As we grow in awareness of our own methods to avoid shame, pain, and loneliness, we must also find ways to engage our mind and heart in the midst of temptation. We doom ourselves to repeat history until we know the story beneath the surface. To care for our heart, we must engage our heart. What follows is part one of four ways to pursue your mind and heart when temptation floods your being and you want to do what you do not want to do.

    1) What am I feeling?
    In the midst of temptation, how often do we really stop to take inventory of what is happening in our heart and mind? Likely, not much.

    We want what we want, and our demand morphs into a greed that accelerates us into action. The emotional and spiritual realms of our mind and heart take a back seat to the physical. We simply act or react in the name of pleasure that eventually leads to pain and disappointment.

    When we ignore the emotional and spiritual parts of us, we live an unexamined life. Most of what tempts us originates from our unconscious- not that we are necessarily unaware of the temptation itself- we do what we do not want to do; but, it is our unprocessed emotions, desires, fantasies, and needs within us that drive us to see the forbidden as bright red, juicy, and fulfilling.

    The hope is to slow the process down. If we can hit pause on our insistence to demand immediate pleasure, we have a chance.

    When temptation comes knocking, slow your reaction down by engaging your mind and heart: What am I feeling?

    Practically speaking, you may need to alter your physical state before fully engaging this question. Switch rooms. Take a walk or go for a run. Pull out a journal. Ask whomever you may be fighting with for a timeout. Once you have changed your proximity from that which tempts you, you will create the emotional space to actually engage your self. Then ask again,

    What am I feeling?

    Name specific feelings. Then wonder about feelings beneath the feelings. There’s a story or two there, I promise. To my knowledge, we humans are the only creatures who tell stories, and the stories behind our motivations are often locked away in unconscious, unprocessed, and un-accessed feelings.

    What am I feeling? is the first step toward caring well for your heart and unlocking and exposing your intentions.

    Next week: Canoe Down a River (Part 2)

  • Using Shame to Motivate Desire

    Using Shame to Motivate Desire

    My back porch is one of my favorite places in the world. When I want peace and restoration without traveling hundreds of miles West to the mountains, I head to the back porch. I have long since given up the fantasy of the Teton range just above the tree line. Instead of peaks and ridges of snow, I get the lights from a few baseball fields. At night the lights can light up my backyard like the sun is still out. Which, for a former baseball player, is not all bad. If I have to listen to any noise other than crickets on my back porch, it might as well be the ping of a metal bat hitting the ball and the applause of parents as their sons and daughters race around third base to score.

    Last week, though, another sound, burned through the trees. It came from a coach hitting ground balls to young boys:

    “If you’re scared of the ball, get off the field!”

    There went my peaceful morning. Sadly yet another coach fell prey to the temptation to use shame to motivate his players, and another group of ten year old boys have reinforced for them the idea that fear means weakness. Where do we get the idea that shame is a productive tool to stimulate strength, desire, and confidence?

    Shame is a popular yet poor motivator. I think anyone who took the time to think about it would agree. But we coaches, teachers, parents, spouses, and employers continue to use it. A few of us might even mean well. Might. Here’s the thing: Those who use shame as a motivator confuse (A) the stimulation of desire with (B) behavior which produces desirable results. Those are two completely different things: One’s Desire versus Another’s Desirable Results.

    For the coach who shamed his young ballplayers, he wanted them to stay in front of the ball. And after his verbal lashing, they probably did. But did any of them grow in passion for the game of baseball or in respect for their coach? Did any of them experience less fear of the rock hard object racing and bouncing at them at high speed likely to hit a rock, take a bad bounce, and pop them in the mouth, chest, or ankle?

    I highly doubt it.

    Shame cannot take away fear. Quite the opposite: Shame hides well below fear, often eluding our detection.

    A person asked me recently,

    “Is it ever okay to shame anyone for good reason?”

    No.

    As leaders, we do not have to shame people to encourage strength and produce results. Good leadership aims to instill courage and passion, and shame is powerless to bestow either. Yes, shaming an employee may produce desirable results in the short run, but it will kill relationship and damage their heart and inevitably production in the end.

    If you use shame to motivate others, consider this for yourself: Shaming someone to accomplish an end is simply the attempt to take a shortcut without doing your own emotional and spiritual work as a leader to become the kind of man or woman others want to follow. To shame as a motivator is popular for good reason: It keeps us from our own disappointment. We get to inadvertently apply our un-grieved, unprocessed losses and insecurities on someone else. How convenient. Yet they are left to carry the carnage we created when we transferred our own shame.

    To coaches who want to build young ballplayers…
    To teachers who want to pass on the desire to learn…
    To employers who want to create work environments where creativity, fun, and innovation happen…
    To family members who long for intimacy and connection…
    We all have our fears for good reason, and fear is a far different animal than cowardice. Combat soldiers without fear die fast.

    When I played baseball, I was scared of the ball. That’s why I wore a glove and a cup when I played third base. It’s why I wore a helmet when I stepped into the batter’s box to stare down an 87 MPH fastball. My boyhood hero’s career ended when a pitch struck him in the eye. I’ve been hit by plenty of pitches. I smile now as I remember my buddies yelling “Don’t rub it!” as I trotted to first base wincing in pain.

    Baseballs hurt. I am still scared of them, and if I had the talent, size, and good fortune, I would still play ball, and not just for the money. Pain and fear never threatened my love of the game, because fear has never been the enemy.

    We take a big step when we honor fear and refrain from shaming it. But because we fear fear, it can tempt us to shame it away. Throwing shame on or toward anyone is a poor attempt to deal with fear, and it cannot instill courage.

    So how do we inspire those we lead toward courage? First, we seek awareness of fear within us and the shame we may harbor beneath it. I often find people have become so accustomed to the normalcy of both impaired fear and toxic-shame that they accept and adopt them as welcomed guests despite their actual identity: malignant intruders. Fear and shame do not have to rule us, but until we know the place they hold within us, we will dance to their beat.

    Only healthy, processed fear and healed shame equip any of us to lead well. As the voice through the trees reminded me, we are still badly in need of recovered and well-processed men and women to inspire courage in younger hearts. In the process, a blessing awaits leaders, too, not just the ones they lead. Leaders who do their own emotional and spiritual work get the chance to inspire, facilitate change in, and offer life to others. That’s a journey worth taking.

    Will you pursue the recovery of your own heart en route to inspire others and bestow courage?

  • The Whisper of Evil: You Do Not Matter

    The Whisper of Evil: You Do Not Matter

    The following is an excerpt from recent writing on distinguishing the different voices of shame.

    Evil would love for us to believe we do not matter. If we only knew the significance we played in the greater story God has invited us into, we would move into healthy shame with intensity and intention to show up in fullness in every moment and relationship. We would know lives, both in the physical and spiritual realm, are at stake, and we would move in strength to bring life to those in our care. But evil has whispered to us that we do not matter, that we are nobody, and we have not only listened but agreed.

    Recall the story of Mufasa’s death in The Lion King. As a young cub, Simba flourishes as the beloved son of the king. He playfully scampers around the kingdom, and he lives under the ever-present protection of his father Mufasa. But this sense of security allows Simba to live naively and/or oblivious to the evil which hunts him. His uncle Scar waits in the shadows, intent to usurp the crown and kingdom for himself.

    When the perfect time arises, Scar enacts his plan to place Simba in a canyon while a hoard of wildebeests, triggered into a panic, stampede toward helpless Simba. Scar calls on Mufasa to help, trusting the love of a father will lead his enemy to death and downfall. As Mufasa runs into the chaos, he himself is trampled even as he rescues Simba to safety.

    Before the dust settles in Simba’s heart, Scar moves in for another kill.

    Scar: Simba, What have you done?
    Simba: He tried to save me. It was an accident. I didn’t mean for it to happen.
    Scar: Of course, of course you didn’t. No one ever means for these things to happen. But the king is dead. If it weren’t for you, he’d still be alive….What will your mother think?
    Simba: What am I going to do?
    Scar: Run away, Simba. Run, run away, and never return.

    Simba, the son of the king and now rightful king, does not have enough of himself to ponder the sequence of events which have led to his father’s death. In his version of the micro-story, he caused Mufasa’s demise by his own immaturity and foolishness. Even without Scar’s blame and threat, toxic-shame has already spoken. But Scar drives the message deeper and attempts to seal the coffin. As intentional and specific as the voice of evil so often is, Scar’s manipulation runs deeper than simply feeding his nephew the fault for his treachery. Beneath his spoken words he offers an insinuation that Simba willingly adopts: You do not matter to the restoration of the kingdom.

    Simba runs away and simultaneously makes this agreement. Whatever else happens within the kingdom, whoever else will be affected by this tragedy no longer matters to the young cub. His toxic-shame blinds him, and he retreats to live in denial of it, the very thing he must confront to save himself, his friends and family, and his community.

    For if Simba knew he mattered, he would stick around to sort out the facts. While he may have been too young to lead as king in that moment, his presence and place as heir apparent would be essential to the hope of the kingdom. Instead, just as in our childish handling of our own shame, Simba checks out, quickly forgets who he is, and accepts the fate evil bestows: I do not matter to the kingdom.

    Sound familiar?