To Love is to Accept Care

“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.” – Brene Brown

I recently attended a convention organized by OCI (Outpost Centers International), whose mission is to help ministries thrive. I received the invitation in December 2023. I became anxious and terrified because my ministry is still in its baby stage. I didn’t feel like I could show up. I imagined that the delegates from different nationalities would be well-established CEOs and directors who probably have massive data to show the impact of their work. I somehow felt shame for my work. Now, that’s a normal response influenced by trauma. The impact of trauma has the potential of crippling our success. But the truth is our work has an impact. Getting feedback that you touched a life is enough evidence that your work is impactful and the number should not be despised.

A few days later, I was requested to participate in the convention by sharing the children’s sermon during the service. Yoh, I panicked! Who? Me? Do what? Ei! The confidence in the caller’s voice made me believe that they believed in me and trusted in God to help me deliver. I said yes and envisioned the experience after receiving the theme and the expected ages of the children. One thing I thank God for is the ability to envision what I want, because how do you work on what you cannot see? I’m grateful for the power of imagination.

I began praying for the right message and asked God to show me the needs of the children who would be attending; this would help me come up with a simple, relevant, practical, and applicable message. It’s easier to come up with illustrations if your audience is from your culture, but when you have different nationalities, you’ve got to think harder. One morning while washing dishes, I got my light-bulb moment and went ahead to write down the lesson and the illustration. That felt nice.

I looked forward to the convention, especially when I discovered that some of my friends would be attending. My bubble was busted when my cycle began a few days before the convention, and this time it came with intense pain. I couldn’t understand why. I had eaten clean, hydrated well, kept fit, and rested well. I began getting discouraged as the day of the event drew closer and I was still in pain. But I was hoping for a miracle.

The day before the event I went to school, but I struggled that morning. I thought that I’d feel better, but unfortunately, the pain got worse, and I even had to leave before the class was over.

I almost felt betrayed by God, wondering why the pain wouldn’t go away even after taking regular remedies that would normally calm it.

I remember feeling light-headed just as I stepped out of the school building. I stopped and leaned on a wall. I felt helpless and lonely and cried a little. Then I paused, regained my strength, and headed home.

I decided that I wasn’t going to go to the convention but remembered that I had an assignment. I was so conflicted within me. I was still hopeful, though. I trusted for a miracle. The D-day came, and I reached out to a friend I told her how I was feeling. She comforted me and said she was praying for me. I managed to go to the convention, but not as early as I anticipated because that morning I woke up with all the unpleasant symptoms. You’d have suspected that I was pregnant, lol. Meeting my friends at the venue calmed me. I didn’t feel the need to act strong. I allowed myself to be taken care of, which is not my default.

Living with a chronic illness is teaching me that a self-reliant mindset can be dangerous. We need people; we’re wired for connection, and it’s okay to receive help. It’s okay to be weak. Being fragile is human. You, too, need the help and care you’ve offered others.

Being at the convention made me appreciate my friends even more. They made sure that I was comfortable and that I got alternatives to the meals I couldn’t eat. That touched my heart. I felt seen and cared for – a need I always ignored and suppressed.

My anxieties were awakened when I realized that I needed to get another illustration since the one I had wouldn’t fit the age of the children I saw at the convention. Thank God, He favoured me with a relevant message. A few minutes before my speaking time, my stomach began hurting. The pain was intense. It was similar to food poisoning pain. I tried breathing exercises, but the pain wasn’t going away. I drank lots of warm water, but there was no change. So I went to where my friends were and asked them to pray with me. Then I hugged them and reminded myself that I wasn’t alone.

The pain disappeared when I went on stage. God gave me the courage to speak to the children calmly. The sermon was interactive, and it was an honour to speak to the future generation embedded in them. This experience helped me appreciate the power of receiving help. I’m so glad I allowed myself to be seen. I didn’t let shame suppress my vulnerability.

Trauma may have taught us to stock up, armor up, and be independent. We may have believed that nobody can take care of us, that we will be abandoned like we’ve been in the past. Truth is, there are gentle, caring humans around us who delight in showing us support. But unless we let them in, we may never taste the joy of being seen and have our vulnerability held with gentleness. You, my friend, are worthy of love, care, and support. We show love when we let others show us care. Will you let yourself be seen today?

Love,
Faith