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June 2, 2003 Dear Gabby, I am in my early twenties and have been in church and filled with the Holy Ghost for several years. Recently I’ve had the opportunity to work with the youth in my local church. A lot of them are going through some of the same things I went through, and I know it would help them if I talked to them about it. I want to help them, but I am afraid to share what God has brought me from. It’s not that I am ashamed of God; it’s that I’m ashamed of my past. I have never really been able to share my full testimony with people. The excuse I give myself for not doing it is that I don't want to cause my parents any grief when I testify about what I have done and what God has brought me from. My parents would be brokenhearted if they heard about some of the things I did. Gabby, am I wrong by not sharing where God has brought me from? Sincerely, Ashamed in Atlanta
Dear Ashamed, My brother Stanley’s wife, Shirley, was an avid reader. When I say, “avid” I don’t mean that she read a book every month or every week. I mean she read a full-sized book every day—and sometimes more than one book in a day! She didn’t seem to have a favorite genre. She read fiction and non-fiction, adventure stories, romances, science fiction, how-to books, and even encyclopedias! She read the backs of cereal boxes, cookbooks, atlases, newspapers, and magazines. She read so voraciously that many times she’d forget the family plans and when Stanley would return home from work hungry for supper, she’d still be curled up in the comfortable chair near the sunny window, lost in a foreign country or a different era. It happened with us, too. Several times, when my dear Harry and I would arrive at the designated time for a dinner she’d invited us to, Shirley would be rushing around the kitchen trying to thaw a frozen chicken in the sink and peeling some potatoes at the last minute—all because she’d read too late. After a while, we learned to accept that the continual reading was part of who Shirley was, and the phrase, “Shirley’s reading” was repeated so often at so many family events, that we stopped trying to get her to participate in the food preparation, games, and clean-up. She had good intentions. She’d look up absently from whatever book she was reading and say, “I’ll get up and help out (or play the game, or open my presents) as soon as I finish this chapter.” Except, that after she finished the current chapter, she’d just sneak a peak at the next page to see what was happening next, and she’d forget what was happening around her. When Stanley and Shirley were first married and I was trying to get to know her better, I invited her to tea and once the tea was poured, I asked her about her reading. That, my dear, was a mistake! If there was anything Shirley loved more than her reading, it was telling a captive audience all about the book she’d just finished. And I’m serious when I say “all about.” She couldn’t just say, “Oh, it’s written by Louis L’Amour and it’s about a cowboy who rescues a kidnapped child from an evil and dangerous gang of thieves.” Oh, no. Shirley wanted to tell you about the posse and the dusty town and the house up in the hills the thieves were camped out in and what the child was wearing and what color her hair was and how handsome the cowboy was and how his horse loved to drink from a particular stream and how the sun was hot on the cowboy’s shoulders as he rode his horse into the hills and how the leader of the gang of thieves was named Billy and how one of his middle teeth was broken out and how his hair was greasy and how there was dirt under his fingernails and how the thieves were eating a pot of stew and arguing loudly about the ransom when the cowboy snuck into the back of the old house to rescue the child and how she was locked in a room and was so scared and how there were tear streaks down her cheeks and how the cowboy put his finger to his lips to tell her to be really, really quiet and how the child’s parents were named Tom and Mary and how they’d just moved from the East to make a new life in the West and on and on and on! An hour went by while I sat there listening to her tell the story, seemingly word-for-word from the book she’d just finished. I don’t believe she ever took a drink of her tea, and I know that I was the one who ate all the cookies. I didn’t say anything during that entire time. (And, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I like to talk!) She just never paused enough for me to get a word inserted into the conversation. Only one other time did I ever ask Shirley about the book she’d just finished. Stanley, Shirley, and I were driving to Wyoming to attend the funeral of our mother’s cousin, Chester Paddock III, who’d died in a mountain landslide. Stanley was snoring in the back seat (after having driven for several hours). Shirley was reading beside me while I took my turn driving. The plains we were driving through seemed to go on forever, and I found myself getting drowsy. Stanley didn’t have a radio in his car and I knew that if I didn’t have some form of entertainment to keep my brain moving, it was going to be a problem. So, I surprised both Shirley and me by asking her to tell me about her favorite recently-read book. (I had to ask twice since she was reading a political thriller and didn’t hear me the first time.) Once she determined that I was serious about asking, she began to retell quite a story, complete with all the details—enough that I could picture the scenes, feel the feelings of the characters, and be relieved when it all came out all right in the end. I was so enthralled that I drove, listening to her voice, until suddenly the car sputtered and stopped. I’d run out of gas! Stanley wasn’t very happy about that, but he was glad that I’d driven long enough for him to rest. Now, Miss Ashamed, in your work with the church youth, most of the time it’s not necessary to be like Shirley and to give all the details to be helpful. Sometimes kids just need to know that the people around them have had similar struggles. It might be useful for them to hear you say something like this, “I’m really praying for you. I remember how I felt when I was going through my own hard times when I was 17.” Or “It’s very hard when you feel so alone. I remember feeling just like that when I was trying to make up my mind about living for God.” Or even “God has brought me a long way from the difficult struggles I went through a few years ago.” Using more general statements doesn’t tell the kids all the particulars of your struggles, but it helps them to know that they’re not the only one who to ever go through rough times. And then, there might be a time in your future, like during my trip with Stanley and Shirley, when it might be appropriate to give a few more details with one or two specific people or at some particular time. You’ll know it’s right when the time comes. And, one other thing. I have a feeling that your parents were aware of your struggles during those years, and I think that at some point in the future you might find yourself sharing some aspects of your difficulties with them, too. Just remember what I learned from Stanley’s wife Shirley. It’s hardly ever necessary to give every single detail—unless you’re writing a book. Sincerely Sincere, Gabby
ninetyandnine.com © 2003, ninetyandnine.com --------- Gabrigail VanBurden has been offering advice for longer than most of you have been alive. Email your practical Apostolic life questions to Gabby@ninetyandnine.com and be prepared for some straight answers! |
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