Barton, Chapter 3

A good friend of mine said that I wield my power like a badge, unsure if it is a sign to protect others or a sign warning to them. This naming of reality was a bit to clear for me to handle when I first received it, yet now it lingers in my gut as an enzyme to be aware that power and energy are gifts for others and not for self-protection or threat.

I read Barton and understand why I assign it to students – the words on the page beckon the reader to “come and die.” She doesn’t know me or my experience, but she has wrestled with her own and walked alongside others to understand shared human experience, and she calls the reader to account for their impact in the world, whether good or ill. She reminds the reader, “you are neither as good as you think but you are also much more.” The little child inside receives this news as a nomad seeking water in a desert.

Barton’s words captured my soul as I sit alone in my office this morning,

A leader who has experience profound loneliness, abandonment or loss learns to keep busy as a way of avoiding the deep feelings that such experiences bring. While staying busy, she is able to maintain a superficial peace; however, over time it becomes obvious that she is unable to “stay in the room” and deal honestly and rigorously with the most challenging issues that need to be faced. (50)

I won’t tell my story here of abandonment, but I do know that the “gun” that I carry under my leadership robe for self-protection and security is intricately tied to my fear of being alone or being abandoned (on the gun, see page 56). I learned to recognize this fear by watching my middle daughter grow up. Madeline is a high-touch kid, who needs people alongside her at all times. She is one of the most social little girls and is able to carry a room of adults in laughter and love. But deep down is a need to be close to others and a fear of being alone. At the dinner table, art table, church pew, bedtime, and everywhere else, I notice Madeline sitting close to others, including me, and pressing her knee against whoever is closest just to share their touch. She is constantly aware of whether someone is moving closer or further away; the latter invokes fear, the former comfort. When no one is close or if she senses someone departing her, fits of tears and rage are a common response. I was reflecting on her life one day to a friend, and found myself saying that I think she is afraid of being abandoned. I wept uncontrollably and quickly realized that what I witness in her is even more true for me.

I recognized my fear and found that in my early days of leading, I too often used the “gun” to keep people close or to eliminate them before they could choose to abandon me. That last sentence was not the easiest to put to paper. But I am coming into my desired practice of pacifism. Recognizing this fear and my self-protective practice helps me when I begin to experience suspicion and paranoia. Instead of going to my drawer to grab the gun, I breathe, rest, and re-center.

For me, the Divine Hours is the new weapon in my bedside drawer. The borrowed language of the Office disarms me and puts me in the mode of peace-keeping. I can be alone with these words and emerge from times of prayer ready to embrace the world. I sometimes wonder how my work is a calling to embrace others (see Volf) and participate in such a way as to not abandon but to remain present and to deal honestly and rigorously with the challenging issues...