sacrificed on the altar of humiliation

(Disclaimer: this post isn't specifically related to homemaking, but I feel like anything that brings us closer to Christ significantly improves the quality and joy of our homes. So here goes.)

I'm part of a counseling ministry at church, and we're having training sessions for the next few Sundays. The method? They call it a "fishbowl." I call it horrible.

Picture your worst nightmare: a small group of women sit in a circle in the middle of the room discussing their deepest issues and crying. The ones who don't share try to figure out how to respond. And outside of the circle, twenty other women are looking on. Staring. Taking notes. And at the end, we all get together and critique what happened. In gory detail.

Okay, I make it sound a little more terrible than it is. I was in the center today. Once people started talking, it was easy to forget I was being watched. The Holy Spirit really moved. And the end result was so worth it...insightful feedback, helpful critiques, growing and learning. Jesus got glory, all that good stuff.

But COME ON. Charlie asked me today if I was excited to go. No, no not excited. Eager for what God would teach me in the end, but not for the process. Why? Certainly because it's an inherently intimidating situation to be put it. But there was more to my severely anxious anticipation than just a normal reaction to an uncomfortable scene.

But I went. As I drove to my death this afternoon, or so I thought, I realized that if someone pulled me over right then and put a gun to my head and asked if I believed in Jesus, I would say yes (at least I can imagine I would) and that would be the end of it. Of me, probably. But to cheerfully volunteer to sit in the middle of a group of Christian women, the scariest people of all, and my peers too - not some rookies off the street who've never counseled before, to be scrutinized (even in love) and observed?! I would rather die! Literally!

But okay, it comes down to this. I realized that I would die for Jesus, but I was refusing to sacrifice myself on the altar of humiliation. What if God's plan was to use me in blessing others by being the BAD example? The one who teaches everyone what not to do? Am I on board for that?

I was convicted as I drove. And though I won't say I was excited by the time I got to church, I was, I think, at least a little more willing to lay down my comfort and reputation if it meant blessing and help for the whole group. Incidentally, I did screw up. And you know what? I think God was glorified. And I lived to tell the tale.