“You have only always to do what is right. It will become easier by practice, and you enjoy in the midst of your trials the pleasure of an approving conscience.”
- Gen. Robert E. Lee
The title of my blog is "I Got It Honest" and the information that follows it serves as a description of what I hope to accomplish through the writings that appear here. I hope to always be brutally honest when I write here, sometimes to the chagrin of my husband, friends, and family who often believe some things are better left unsaid. I agree with them on this to a certain extent. However, I firmly believe that one goes through trials, tribulations, joys, and monotony in order to learn. We learn life lessons from these things and, to me, its almost useless if those things are not shared so that the masses can learn as well. I understand that, more often then not, the lessons we pass on to others becomes more or less like the things our parents try to tell us; we hear them, understand where they are coming from, and often even agree with them. Does it always keep us from repeating those same mistakes? Of course not. Why? Because we are a stubborn society who has to do it for themselves.
However...
Occasionally warning bells will go off inside us that say, "wait, I've heard about this once before. I probably shouldn't go that way or do that thing." When this happens, we are usually able to avoid unnecessary stress or burdens because we opened ourselves up to wisdom given us by someone wiser and smarter than ourselves. Now, I would never claim to be wiser or smarter than anyone else; Lord knows I have and will continue to make my fair share of mistakes (thus the blog), but it is with that slim chance you might take my advice to heart and apply it that I continue to share these lessons I have learned and will continue to learn.
In the last sentence of my informational paragraph (located under the blog title), I mention that I want to share what happens when I choose to do what God wants me to do and also what happens when I refuse. I am holding myself to that promise today by sharing with you something about myself that I have recently been forced to come face to face with. I am a coward. Now, that's a strong statement and I mean to clarify and specify what exactly I mean by that by sharing my story and hoping, once again, that you can take some piece of wisdom from it and learn to not repeat after me in this instance. When I say that I am a coward, that is to say, more specifically, that I have a tendency to run away. When God brings something big into my life, some task or duty I am to perform, I often get scared like a child and run away as far and as fast as I can. I have never seen that aspect of myself more clearly than I have in the last two months. God has brought me forward, shined a spotlight on that attribute of mine, and said, "Hey! You need to do something about this because I'm not going to leave you alone until you obey me."
So, what have I been running away from you ask? The story is this: I have in my possession a fair knowledge of American Sign Language (ASL). I can carry a conversation and, more often then not, have no issues knowing what signs to use to say all that I need to. My introduction to ASL began in elementary school when I came face to face with some cold hard truth: I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Nope. Couldn't sing a lick. I was too shy to do so even if I could. So, when I went to a church camp and sign language was offered as a track I could take, I jumped on it. Why not? That way, I could still participate in the worship and not embarrass myself. In that track, we learned some basic signs and used them to perform a song on stage at the end of the week. I was hooked that first day and I haven't really looked back since. I continued using what I had learned in that track and continued taking that same kind of track at the other camps I went to right up to middle school. In high school I was able to take ASL as my foreign language and did so for 2 and 1/2 years. Also while in high school, I used my growing knowledge in my youth group where I taught my friends worship songs in ASL. We often performed them in front of the church. I used my sign language to lead the worship at other events like women's bible study classes, adult drama ministries, youth group vacation bible school, and other youth led services. I was in love with the language that allowed me to express my love of Christ in an elegant manner using something other than my physical voice.
That weekend has been in my mind ever since and probably always will be. Despite my inexperience, I was able to convey the approximately 5 messages, not to mention plain conversations, prayers, announcements, etc..., in such a way that she had no real issue understand my meaning. Thankfully, that friend is an amazing woman of God and had seemingly limitless patience with me because I am 100% sure I made ample mistakes. So what went wrong then? What happened that weekend that caused it to be burned into my memory indefinitely? I became afraid. I kept remembering myself messing up over and over trying to interpret the many messages of that week and seeing (or believing) how utterly I had failed. My confidence took a blow that weekend and it scared me to the point that I took Robert up on that Psychology class very shortly after! Admittedly, all that fear and feeling of failure was mostly in my head because, again, my friend was amazing with me and would never in a million years have let me leave feeling that way if she'd known. She did nothing but offer praise of my work and thankfulness for my help...and yet. And yet I still left feeling the way I did. I decided the only thing left to do was run. I ran way from God's calling for my life at that time. I got my Psychology degree instead and I didn't practice my sign language for almost two years after that.
I married Robert and we moved to Atlanta, Georgia where we attended Forrest Hills Baptist Church with his parents. Something I had learned a while back about Robert's mother but had tucked away and not really thought about, was the fact that Roberts' mother was an interpreter at that church and also taught special needs deaf children at a local school. Wow...there was no escaping it. Despite this, I still didn't get involved with the deaf ministry the church had. Instead, I avoided the both the deaf and the hearing who spoke using ASL. Occasionally, I couldn't avoid them and was forced to use it, shame burning inside me because I still felt so inadequate. Ironically, I complained quite a bit about how I felt there was no ministry I could really get involved in while there. Newsflash right? Anyway, it was Christmas time around year two of our attendance there and they were putting on a Christmas cantata. I was approached and asked if I would be willing to interpret all the songs because the main interpreters really wanted to be singing in the choir and another would be playing piano. They were desperate and so, again, I was given this chance to use my abilities to serve. I practiced and I practiced and felt so much more confident than I had that one dreadful weekend! I was ready! They needed me and I was excited. When all was said and done, I felt I had done a good job; no mistakes that I could recall. I was clear and precise and even elegant. So why wasn't I satisfied? Why didn't I feel a renewed desire to become involved with the deaf ministry? This time, my problem wasn't ability or lack thereof. This time, my problem wasn't a lack of confidence or shame at a job I thought I had done poorly. This time...it was selfishness. I didn't want to get involved in the lives the deaf or hearing interpreters at our church. I didn't want to take the time to hone my ability, learn new techniques, perfect my vocabulary. I wasn't interested in deaf socials or interpreting conferences or anything of the sort. Why? Because I knew it would take time. I knew it would take effort. Neither of which I wanted to give or exert. I had other things to do that I thought were more important. So I ran away. Again. I stopped volunteering and eventually we stopped attending.
This brings us to the present. My husband and I just spent the last year in Nashville, Tennessee for my husband's job. In January we moved to Huntsville, Alabama because we wanted to be around family and we wanted to be back at Capshaw Baptist church; a church we had joined right before we found out we were going to Nashville. When we came back, we met with our Pastor and his wife for lunch. Over the course of that lunch, we talked about many things including how Robert and I desired to get involved in ministry and what those ministries were. Many things came up in that discussion and I happened to mention that I knew sign language. Oops. Pastor Zach jumped on that in a heartbeat, informing me that there was need for an interpreter at our church as a couple had been coming but were unable to catch much of the message due to obvious reasons. I was eager to please and I jumped on it. However, I must admit I was more excited about being needed and knowing I could be useful more than I was concerned that God could or would use me. In fact, I didn't even consult him on the matter. I simply agreed to seek out this new couple and to introduce myself. As excited as I thought I was, I intended to do things slowly. I wanted to get back into the swing of things at Capshaw, meet new people, get into a Sunday school class, among other things. I figured this interpreting thing was something I could instigate but would not need to actually be a part of. I had visions of grandeur thinking I'd find someone in the congregation who knew ASL and they could interpret messages while I could get back to doing what got me involved in ASL in the first place: the music. I'd teach others to sign the songs as well so that, when my husband and I traveled, as we always do, I wouldn't have to worry about leaving an empty void. This time, I wasn't running away. I was diving into a pool vanity. I was being arrogant, thinking I had this all figured out and this it would all work according to my plans (insert God laughing here).
Needless to say, it didn't and hasn't worked out that way...at all. Indeed, within a week of that lunch with Pastor, he had announced on Facebook that Capshaw was starting a new Deaf Ministry and that, if anyone wanted to get involved or knew anyone who could benefit from an interpreter, to let him know. Say what? Wait a minute! This was not the plan! Right after that status was posted, I received a message from his wife saying she'd seen the couple out and about and informed them about me...I was contacted by them the next day. All of this in a week! I was thinking months! Like maybe 12! That's when I began to hyperventilate. What had I done? More importantly what was I going do! I couldn't back myself out of this one. I couldn't run away, I couldn't move away, I couldn't do anything. It was too late for all of that. That's when the fear started. That's when the doubt started. That's when I went to sleep crying because I knew I had screwed up big time. How was I going to interpret an hour long message and songs when I had never done it before (at least not in at least 8 years) with any great success? All this time I had been like Jonah; knowing what God wanted and going in the opposite direction. Now I was stuck in "Nineveh" without a boat or a whale to carry me away. I thought I was lost.
So, in a last ditch effort to put up my own internal kind of protest, I asked the couple I'd be interpreting for to give me one more week to prepare myself. I told them I would be there Sunday but that I would not interpret; I would wait until the following weekend after I had cleared things with Pastor Zach and our worship leader, Pastor Brandon, to make sure I was all clear to proceed. I attended church that Sunday and that is where I met them. Instantly I was drawn to how sweet and kind they were towards me. I was tripping all over my own hands trying to get some sort of coherent thoughts out and they didn't seem to mind my "stuttering" at all. After those introductions, I felt a tiny bit better. I sat down a few rows behind and to the left of them during service. Never in my life have I ever felt so convicted as I did that Sunday as I sat observing them throughout the service. Having never had a deaf ministry to speak of, there were many things that hindered understanding for them. The lights blocked lips that they might have read to understand, the music in the first service is softer than in the second and thus vibrations did nothing either. The Pastor, not aware of his actions turned his body and face away from them, keeping them from hearing what they might have otherwise. I am in no way implying that this amazing couple needed me because of me. I am not in anyway saying that they are ignorant or incapable of handling their learning on their own. I am not even saying that they are incapable of gaining as much from the pastor without me as they would with me. In other words...they don't need me. I am nothing special as I've well stated. But, as I sat there watching them flip through pages, not quite sure what chapter the pastor had said because he'd turned his mouth from them, I died a little inside. Ok, I died a lot. I felt so horribly overcome with guilt that I wanted to jump up in the middle of the sermon, grab a chair, and do the best I could with no preparation of any sort. I thought to myself, "what kind of person are you that you would withhold even your meager talent from them?" I was horrified at the hard-hearted person I had allowed myself to become. Did I think it was all an accident that I had been brought here? Or that I had been put through those other situations? Of course it wasn't. God knew from the beginning that I would be brought here, to this church, to this ministry, to this couple. He knew all along and had tried to help me prepare and I had chosen to jump ship, ending up in the belly of a whale headed right back down the path he was bringing me down before...with or without my permission.
Unlike Jonah, I don't seek to have destroyed those whom I have been sent to serve. I have since interpreted three times for them and each and every time I have done so I have felt so terrified all the way up until time to start only to find that, right afterwards, I felt relief and gratitude because of the patience and kindness of the two I was interpreting for. It is still a struggle for me and I have to be honest and say that I still freak out and try to argue my way out of it sometimes but I am learning to obey. I am learning to do what I know is right simply because it is so. All of that is not to say, however, that I don't enjoy doing it. I do. I still love ASL and I love to use it. I just habitually feel inadequate. I even feel sometimes like I don't deserve such a position; a position of sharing biblical truths, as preached by Pastor Zach, to those who would otherwise have a hard time getting it. Its basically a love hate relationship if you will. I need to let go and let God or so I've been told. Will I continue to be petrified? No question. Will I ever be perfect at it? Probably not. Will I continue to make mistakes? Of course. Do I still have a really (really) long way to go and a whole lot to learn about interpreting? Absolutely.
But will I try? Yes. I am tired of running away. I need to stop being a coward and I need to face these fears that have been haunting me since college. I need to accept this commitment and do it as unto the Lord. Why? Because with knowledge comes great responsibility and because I can and I should....and I will.
"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." - Colossians 3:17
