To Be Fully Known

I have a confession to make.

The truth is that I have not written in a few months in this capacity. I've journaled, I've made Instagram and Facebook posts, I've written pages and pages of biblical interpretations, but I haven't seemed to be able to find the margin to process life publicly in the blogosphere.

And that might sound strange—processing life publicly—but it actually connects beautifully to a theme God has been bringing to the surface of my life recently—the art of being fully known.

As may of you may know, I am currently a student in the School of Biblical Studies (SBS) with Youth with a Mission (YWAM) in Salem, Oregon. It's a nine-month school in which we study all 66 books of the Bible, and it is intense. I don't think I worked my brain this hard even during my four years of college.

We are almost finished with the first of three quarters, and to this point, we've studied most of the New Testament. God speaks through His Word consistently, and two weeks ago, He spoke to me so clearly through our study of 1 Corinthians and re-opened a wound in my heart that hadn't fully healed yet.

It was a rainy day in early February, a few days before I graduated from my Discipleship Training School (DTS) at YWAM Salem, and I was journaling on the porch looking out across the campus. I was reflecting on a verse that came to mind from 1 Corithians 8:3 which says, "But if anyone loves God, he is known by God." I wrote about this verse in the context of all my unknowns, specifically how I was going to get the money to fund my SBS and if I would be able to return to the campus at the end of March for the school. I worried that God saw and provided for everyone except me, that my preferences, concerns, and desires were inconsequential to Him. (How deeply I was confronted with this falsehood when returned to Salem six weeks later, my school more than halfway funded.)

Three months later, completely forgetting about this journal entry, I studied the book of 1 Corinthians and found myself drawn to that same verse in chapter 8, in addition to a verse in chapter 13: "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known" (vs. 12).

At the same time I was studying 1 Corinthians that week, I was also discovering something new about myself--my true Enneagram type. This might seem silly or tangential to the topic, but do journey with me for a moment.

I love personality tests. I've been familiar with the Enneagram since my freshman year of college, and in the five years since then, I've cycled through nearly all of the nine types. It's been an enlightening, yet supremely frustrating journey; it seems as though just as I box myself in to a particular type, I discover something new about myself or I meet another person who shares that type and I quickly identify the differences between us.

I am more certain now than I ever have been that I am an Enneagram Type 4, also known as the Individualist. This means that at my core, I desire to be unique, and I love to express myself creatively (i.e., my distinct style, my writing, etc.). It means that I am always focusing on what is missing in my life, and I fear being insignificant. It means that I deeply desire to be authentic and sincere in everything I do, and deep down, I long to be fully known by others.

Labels can be harmful, but they can also bring clarity to the parts of us we've always desired to vocalize but never had the right words. The Type 4 is a helpful label that came at such an intentional time that I believe God lined it up that way for a reason.

As I grappled with these revelations, I also became confronted with an area of my testimony I had been keeping in the dark because I was fearful of how I would be perceived by others if I shared it. I found myself sobbing in a friend's room one night that week, and I told her everything. She was the first person with whom I practiced vulnerability in that way. I felt what someone at some point in my life termed, vulnerability hangover, the rest of the week, but gradually, I began to share this piece of my testimony with more trusted friends.

And as I opened up, a couple of significant things happened. The first effect of my vulnerability was that I saw shame begin to break off. The image I keep receiving when I envision shame breaking off is from Acts 16, when the Holy Spirit causes an earthquake which unfastens Paul and Silas's shackles and the prison door swings wide open for their escape. Literally, my shackles have fallen to the ground. I no longer feel bound by the darkness anymore; I am free to walk in the light.

Another thing that's happened since I've begun practicing vulnerability in this way is that people have felt encouraged to share their own struggles in response. I had a powerful phone conversation with a long-distance friend last week where I laid my baggage on the table, and she set hers out as well. We both cried. It was beautiful.

I've been deeply inspired by a couple of writers during this process, one of which is Brené Brown. She is a well-known author who specializes in the areas of vulnerability and shame, and her work has been both inspiring and uncomfortable to me over the past several years. I love this quote:

"Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light."

To discover the light that confronting my own story could bring into my own understanding of myself and the light it could bring for others, I had to be willing to walk through the dark. I spent four years running from part of my testimony—disassociating to the point of forgetting the empathy it sprouted within me.

BUT GOD—The interruption to every story; the turning point from steadily steering in one direction to take the scenic route. He leaves no stone unturned in our hearts, and I believe He desires to fully heal us from things, even while on Earth. A very crucial aspect of understanding myself was to realize just how deep my desire runs to be fully known, and to see that the only way that would ever happen was if I was willing to not only let other people in, but let God in to care for my tender testimony and refine it to be used for His Kingdom.

I think it's important to highlight that the means through which this healing came about was through the study of God's Word. I have been a believer in Jesus since I was seven years old. I grew up in church and attended Christian schools. But these things alone didn't supplement my need for Scripture's place in my life. The lack of biblical literacy in our culture today is astounding. Many people—Christians included—don't believe in the Bible's relevancy for us today, cherry-picking what fits their lifestyle or theology and throwing out the rest. And I think one reason for this could be that the Bible is Truth, and Truth lives in the light, exposing all that's hidden away in the darkness. And that's pretty uncomfortable for most of us.

This week, we've been studying the Gospel of John, and I am reminded of one of Jesus's famous "I Am" statements: "I am the light of the world" (8v12). Later, in chapter 12, Jesus shares this stunning promise: "I have come into the world as light, so that whoever believes in me may not remain in darkness" (v46).

Imagine you are preparing for bed, and you flip off the lights and snuggle beneath your covers. It takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the darkness; you find yourself very disoriented for a minute if you try to locate items in the room right away under the blanket of darkness. But when your eyes get adjusted, it's comfortable. The lack of light lulls you to sleep. Turning on a light too quickly can be a shock to your system, once you've adjusted to the darkness.

When I envision Jesus as the light of the world, I see him coming as gently as the sunrise. His warm glow begins to peek across the horizon, casting long rays across sleepy cities and hurried homes. Jesus's light is one, like the sunrise, that must come, because night cannot carry on forever. His light awakens people from their slumber, bringing them back to life. His light exposes thieves and prowlers attempting to break into homes under the cover of night. His light warms the distant heart, drawing it back to its original design. His light beckons our vulnerable selves to come out from behind the trees and into the open, unashamed and fully known.