I enter the room as my small, false self, wrapped up in a narrative that vacillates between uncertainty and overconfidence, from They wouldn’t want to hear from me to I have been doing this so much longer than the rest of these guys. Clearly I’m a treat to be around. When I walk into a room clinging to my own false story, my body gives me hints. I get sweaty, shaky, excited, and breathless. Rather than the gathered, quiet strength available to me in Christ, I experience a physical feeling of disintegration. It’s like my body knows I’m holding back and is afraid to bring my full self to the
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