It was my freshman year of college. I was sitting in the dining hall with a group of classmates. We were telling stories and one upperclasswoman was sharing something when it sparked a memory for me. In my young and immature mind, I started to open my mouth to interrupt with what I wanted to say, but then, I thought better of it. My quick lean-in was met by an equally quick lean away. I was still learning.

The student who was speaking at that moment was universally respected and admired. She was dynamic, funny, and sought-after. A leader in every sense of the word. And when she saw my shift in engagement, she asked me what was happening.

I told her that she’d reminded me of a story but I didn’t want to interrupt.

And then, in front of upperclassmen and fellow students, she looked me in the eye and said, “No, you did want to interrupt because you just wanted to be the center of attention. You always do.”

Her words stuck in me like barbs. I felt my face go red from humiliation. Fighting back my tears, I made an excuse to leave and took my tray to the dish collection area, walking back to my dorm as quickly as I could.

I was gutted by her pronouncement to my 19-year-old self. I felt small and embarrassed.

When you live in the middle of downtown Chicago, there are few places to hide in a moment of intense vulnerability and shame, so I found refuge in the stairwell. I managed to hide for a bit until there was a click and the door opened. It was her, and she asked if we could talk one-on-one.

This is surely the moment we will make peace, I thought. Perhaps she knows I’m hurt.

But as we sat in her room, I was met with her telling me I was selfish and that my motives were self-centered. That my heart and intention were to outshine others. I walked out of the room, devastated. I didn’t turn to the Bible for truth or encouragement, I just took her words as red letters.

It shifted the way I existed around the others on my dorm floor. Did they all feel like I was being selfish when I told stories or made jokes? Did they all believe I wanted to be the center of attention? The best way forward, as far as my wounded self could tell, was to get smaller and stop showing up. So I did. For months, I stopped myself from engaging with those dear friends in that community because I was so terrified of who she had so confidently told me I was.

Years later, when I got offered a dream job at a ministry, I woke up one morning in a panic. There was no way I could take this job because I was doubting that my motives could be good. What if I think I want to help others but really I just want to be the center of attention? This opportunity was probably too good to be true. I seriously considered backing out of what would be one of the most formative seasons of my life, all because of a careless comment made by someone who probably doesn’t even remember that interaction.

For years, in moments of pivotal growth, I could hear her voice in my head. If I was going to say something in a public way, I second-guessed. If I was going to share news, I assumed I was being selfish. Those words were not just about that moment, but I was accused of being selfish all the way down to my heart and motives. It was the kind of one-two punch I couldn’t recover from.

I was nineteen. Of course I was learning to not interrupt. Of course I loved my friends. Of course my intentions were good. But in that year of adjusting to college and feeling so very insecure, the words of a senior who was established and carried the social clout were the ones that stayed.

If you’ve met me, you know that I am passionate and community-driven and can be loud. And for a long, long time, I assumed those were the very worst things about who I was.

This is what happens when we anchor our confidence in the opinions of others. Are we all selfish and sinful? Yes. Is there a place for gentle rebuke and accountability? Yes. But scripture reminds us that  “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones” (Proverbs 16:24 ESV). The way that we pour into others with our words matters. I am so sure many of us remember words that wound long after the bleeding stops.

So today as I write these words to you, friends, know that they’re a miracle. I almost didn’t keep writing. I almost didn’t pursue ministry. I almost didn’t say yes to what God had for me, but He has reminded me over the years that we’re all in process, and at the end of the day, who He says I am carries the most weight.

If you are carrying sharp words spoken over you in a moment of true unkindness, consider this a post just for you. Imagine me sitting across from you and saying, “Those words weren’t for your good or growth.”

But you know what words are? God’s. And He’s got a whole lot of truth to build us up in his Word. So open it up and soak in the truth, sister. We’re all a mess and we all fall short — but we’re also deeply loved and redeemed and moving toward wholeness.

May we use our words to preach goodness and beauty and life until our voices go hoarse.

 

Listen to today’s devotion at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts!

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