Several days ago the title of a blog post appeared on a twitter that I follow. The title, "Criticism Refines You" brought back an avalanche of painful memories surrounding a particular criticism I received years ago while serving as the board chair for a Christian school.
The principal of the school had asked me if I would give the opening prayer before the school's Christmas program. He asked me about 5 minutes before the event was to occur – on a Thursday night of what had already been a terrible week. I was tired, upset, worn out and the last thing that I wanted to do was to pray before a crowd of 400 parents, and grandparents, and aunts, and uncles, and assorted neighbors - all with their video cameras running, all anxious to see their precious child, the only star of the show, preform. I should have said no, but I didn’t. Instead I said yes, and then promptly walked to the back of the venue and began ‘rehearsing’ what I would pray. I’m sure you know the prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father, We are so grateful to be here in Thy presence on this magnificent night to honor Thy name and to thank you for Thy generous bounty, er blessing…” But I wasn’t in the mood to be grateful and I decided as I stood in the back of the room that to stand in front of this group of people and pray that kind of prayer would be a lie before God and to God (after all, that IS who I was speaking to) and I couldn’t do it. Again, in hindsight, I should have said no to saying the prayer. What I did instead was to pray something like this “God, thank you for this opportunity to be here. I know that I am tired, and that I have had a long week, and I am sure that many others in here are worn out also. May you use the voices of these children to not only glorify your name but to revive us so that we too may praise you with joyful hearts.” Apparently, that was a poor choice of words. So poor that it required an anonymous letter sent to the principal letting him know that their family and seven others would be withdrawing their children from the school. How dare I use the children’s program to air my dirty laundry.
And this isn’t the only ‘criticism’ I have received over the years. There was the one where 5 families pulled their children out of the school because when asked to speak at the children’s chapel on 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 which says
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God”
I shared with the children about the amazing and wonderful comfort I received from God when I had a miscarriage. How this Godly comfort had sustained me and carried me through a very sad time. I also shared how I was then able to minister to others. And how God gave us another child to love. Apparently, according to the 'editor of the anonymous letter,' children do not need to know that babies can die. Rather I should have spoken to them about safe things such as sick pets or a goldfish dying.
And then there was the mass exodus which resulted in the closing of the school when I was asked to speak on Exodus 20:14 “Thou shall not commit adultery.” Well, not really, but by this time, I figured it was eminent.
The net result was that I was not refined by criticism – but rather I was burned, consumed and I died as a result. Literally. My soul was crushed and my spirit wounded to the point that I stopped speaking. I stopped opening up. I stopped walking down the road of transparency. Speaking what I thought were words of honesty that would encourage others, that would cause someone else to say, "Wait, you too? I thought I was the only one." Speaking words that I thought might start a healing work in someone else's life instead caused me tremendous hurt and I began to doubt.
These critiques felt like someone had dumped their burning poop on my front door. They did not critique me out of love. They did not come to me with grace. Instead, they wadded up their anger, their fears, and their self-righteousness and dumped it in a burning heap of poop and throw-up on my front door. And they left me alone to clean it up. They left me vulnerable to other attacks. They left me afraid to venture out.
I read the blog titled “Criticism Refines You” and I found that it centered around the idea that criticism coming from a coach, a mentor or a friend should be considered. And the author was right. That criticism is offered on a gold plate of love, garnished with the fruit of gentleness, peace, kindness and patience. But what do I do with the mud and poop and vomit slung on my door step in a drive by? Cower in my room with the covers pulled over my head? (Which by the way is pretty much where I have been for the last oh, ten years or so).
Several days ago my daughter heard Rob Bell speak and he was asked how he dealt with critics. My daughter said he gave a few good strong practical pieces of advice (which of course, she can’t recall) and then ended with, “And, oh yah, never google your name.” And I think I am starting to understand. I think I am starting to overcome my fears and insecurities. I think I am beginning to be ready to listen to those who come to me in love and concern. To listen to those whose desire it is to see me refined to see me melded into the image of Christ. To those voices I will turn my ear. But to those who throw-up on me, whose only motivation is to destroy me, to them I need to learn to turn a deaf ear. When those voices call out, I need to turn up the volume of God’s voice so theirs is silenced. I need to call friends and have them help me ‘clean up the heaping pile of burning poop’ on my door step so that I can go out again and do the good works that God created me to do. And friends will do that. Friends who love me and love God more will do that.
I was NOT created to sit in my house…I was created by God to use any and all venues He should give to me to praise His name, to draw into His presence and to live a life that is so transparent that all one sees is Christ glorified. It's time to come out of my house. Or at least take the covers off my head.
