Victim or Viking?
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
This is Jesus’ encouragement to me this summer.
Sitting somewhere in the room, He would breathe in and out, encouraging me to do the same.
Writing is hard when life feels hard. I’ve writen a lot lately, but none of it is shared. Vulnerability is scary when you don’t feel you can trust your thoughts, feelings, and perceptions. I fear that if I speak what is hidden in the crevices of my mind, no one will understand; everyone will judge. So, often I keep all I have and share it with the one who makes me feel truly safe. In the past few months, Jesus has been growing me, stretching me to the point where I have felt like a limp, thin version of myself. One foot in front of the last. I breathe in and I breathe out. It is all I have been capable of doing some days.
As I look around, I can’t help but wonder, isn’t this how many of us feel? Beaten. Weighted. Tired. When does it end? How do I run this race well? What does success, victory and freedom look like when I feel this way? Am I winning? Or losing?
Brene Brown speaks on the concept of Victim or Viking in her book Daring Greatly. She shares that, as a culture, we cognitively distort reality by putting ourselves in one of two categories. Either I am a Victim or a Viking. Either I am winning or losing. She suggests that this doesn’t help us in shame resilience, nor is it how reality plays out.
When I struggle to be present, have a good attitude, pull myself up by the bootstraps and do the hard thing in front of me, does this automatically mean I am losing? If I did believe this to be true, the first sign of “losing” might prompt me to throw in the towel, give up, go home, and crawl into bed… maybe take a long nap.
Yet, what Jesus wants us to see is the power in our moments of trying. The small moments of strength as we work towards healing, forward in fear, choosing the hard, time and time again. If I have anxiety but push into the vulnerable conversation, even for a moment, this is a win. Even if five seconds later, I am crying in the bathroom or on my phone to disassociate, I still choose for a moment to be strong. His strength in me, working to empower the power He created in me, to take another step into Him.
I believe we often negate these small moments because, in life, we are so focused on this perfect mark of winning we are all striving for. If I am brave ALL the time, if I am vulnerable in EVERY conversation, if I am joyful ALL through the day, or if I am patient with my kids ALL week, then I am a Viking. We miss the five-second victories because maybe after that, we fall and deem the whole thing a failure.
This summer, Jesus led me in a season of listening to Him through journaling what I felt He was saying. This looked different each day, but on many days we’d sit around the campfire. I’d keep my eyes open so that I could journal. I would sit with Him and sometimes the Holy Spirit, asking them their opinions on life. My journal became full of pages and pages of “B- I love you so much… I am incredibly proud of you… your heart to seek me is unique… You are so special to me.” Line after line, the Lord chose to pour His heart of love out for me.
As a person who loves to understand the “why” behind things, we would often spend time going through certain situations, so he could help me understand myself and others. Why do I struggle or react the way I did, or how do I see others differently? Jesus’ words were often woven with a deep sense of empowerment. He wanted me to know the strength, creativity, and intelligence He had instilled in me. It was like an art show that Jesus kept taking me to, day after day, with all the work displayed was His work, and He wanted to show me the intricate pieces of beauty He had thought of. Oh, and the art was me and others around me.
Highlighting the Masterpiece
Crack, snap, pop. The fire spits rhythmically, flowing with the slight breeze blowing through the forest. My green lawn chair rests facing the fire pit, dimly lit by the light of the blaze. The forest surrounds the area with a small opening, enough for four chairs to circle the flames. A river runs through the woods, just beyond the first row of trees. The running of the brook makes lapping sounds against the rocks, harmoniously joining in with the fire to make a small symphony of sounds. As dusk falls on the spot, the sun says goodbye to the tips of the trees and the hoot of an owl rings in the night.
Cross-legged, I sit under a blanket, holding my coffee, and looking down as I trace the rim of my cup with my thumb. I don’t look up; I follow the circle, breathing in and out as my finger continues the motion. My heart feels steady and calm, with a slight heaviness lingering in the background.
His hand reaches out and stops my finger from finishing the circle. My gaze slowly traces up His arm to the rest of Him where he sits with his legs criss-cross on top of a wooden stump, that looks as though it was made for Him to sit on. Wearing jeans and a red flannel jacket, Jesus’ body is turned towards me slightly. It gives His face the ability to look directly at me, into my heart. Finding his eyes, my soul sighs with the rest that comes from being known.
Hi, he says with a small glimmer of a smile. I know what is coming next; his mouth is open and sweet words of encouragement run off his lips as though this is his favourite thing to do. My love, I love you with deep, fierce love. You are doing so many things right, your willingness to listen to others, to work through the hard things, to hear my heart amid hurt. You keep going, even when you want to stop. You keep pushing into the hard, even when sometimes it’s unbearable. I know you don’t see this. You see the ways you mess up and fall short. But I need you to understand how this is not my view. I love who you are. I love your willingness and unique desire to pursue me. Look, you’re sitting here, aren’t you? You’re at my side, wanting to hear my heart. Yes, there are things you struggle with, sin and habits that entangle you. But this is not my focus. I want you to celebrate the ways you have been strong, the ways you have chosen obedience. My love, this is what I want you to see.
My fingers have left my cup, scribbling down the words He says to me in my journal. I pause and laugh as he finishes. Looking at him, I can’t help but feel something within me push back towards his praise, love, and pure adoration of who I am. Does he not see the mess I am? The ways I am anxious? How I continue to disconnect and avoid when things get hard? The ways unforgiveness holds tightly to hurt, resting in my heart? I see all these things with such clarity; why doesn’t he? Knowing he hears my thoughts, I let them flow, knowing I’ll get a response.
He sighs, shaking his head as he moves his hand to rest on the side of my chair; he opens it. I know it’s an invitation, so I slowly lift my open hand to rest in His. My eyes fix on his as he speaks.
You are my treasure; I love all of who you are. You are powerful and fierce because I have made you this way. I see the small ways you choose to obey me; not only do these draw you closer to me, but they are small reflections of whom I’ve created you to be. They provide victory and give you more authority over your hurt each time you demonstrate my power. You are going through immeasurable pain; this will impact the way you act. Victory in this time does not mean obedience all the time but rather small moments of saying yes to me. Don’t worry about the details; seek rest in me.
Squeezing my hand as He finishes speaking, Jesus looks to the brook on our left. Peeking through a few small trees, you can see the water moving over a rock. The water on this rock represents me; the rock is you. The stone doesn’t have to do anything but stay still. The water, as it runs over the rock, cleans, and smooths it over time. In different seasons the water may hit the rock differently. Sometimes it covers it with an immense amount of force. Other times, it may slowly move over and through it. Each season brings a different purpose for growth for the rock, shaping it, creating resilience and beauty from the ways the elements impact it. Yet each season, the rock can be assured the water is still there.
Bringing His hand to rest on my head, Jesus smiles at me. I’ve got you, B; we are doing this together.
I sigh, my heart feels lighter, but a part of me yearns to stay in this space longer. To sit in the silence and peace of feeling wholly accepted. Lifting my eyes to His, I look one last time at that face I know so well. He envelops my soul in peace as he sweetly smiles at me. I love who you are; he says; I am so excited to do today with you.
In Jesus, we are Vikings. He invites us to new freedoms each day, but His heart only yearns for us to hear how he celebrates us for who we are NOW. I pray that He will invite you into that deeper space of being known and loved by Him. That you will see How much He loves and adores you now, for all of who you are. This can free you to attempt those small viking moments as you realize you are going at it from a place of already being wholly accepted and loved.
