This morning I went on a walk to listen to praise music on my iPod and hold the themes of this book out before God in hopes that He would speak to my heart. He spoke, all right. I realized that maybe I don’t just doubt myself. Maybe I subconsciously doubt God for using me. Let me be frank: if I were God, I wouldn’t have given me a second look. I constantly feel unqualified, inadequate and out of my league. I realized this morning that I not only lack security, I also lack faith. I don’t just doubt myself, I also doubt God about myself. It was a revelation to me. Almost a horror. I wonder if you can relate.
If you know Jesus Christ personally, He has chosen you, too, and has appointed you to accomplish something good. Something that matters. Something prepared for you before time began (see Eph. 2:10). Something meant to have a serious impact within your sphere of influence.
Perhaps, like me, somewhere deep inside you entertain the lie that you know yourself better than God knows you and that you’ve somehow successfully hidden something from His omniscient eye. This could be the only explanation for why He bothers with you. For those of us who try to live in the light of Scripture, this thought process is far more subtle than outright. Roots always extend underground. Sometimes the only way we know one of these roots exists is when we see what’s growing from it. If we have false assumptions like, “If God really knew me, He wouldn’t like me” hidden somewhere in our core, it will feed our insecurities like a zookeeper shoveling hay to an elephant. We only know that assumption is there because something big, alive and destructive is growing from it.
Some of us never seek healing from God for our insecurities because we feel like we don’t fit the profile. We think insecurity only looks one way—mousy, maybe even inept—and that’s not exactly who we see in the mirror. At least not once the mascara’s on. And it certainly is not the woman we present to the public. Insecurity’s best cover is perfectionism. That’s where it becomes an art form.
Keep an open mind to what an insecure woman looks like, and don’t be too hasty to let yourself off the hook just because one dimension of the portrait doesn’t look like you. The fact that she can be a complicated mix of confidence and self-consciousness is the very reason it took me so long to identify it in myself and admit it.
As I was preparing to write this book, I took an insecurity inventory and found that many of the statements did not apply to me at all.
Do I cry easily? No.
Do I avoid the spotlight in social situations? Uh, no. There’s a reason some of my best buddies call me “Beth La Ham.”
Other suggestions on the inventory, however, were so descriptive that I felt my face flush like someone had caught me cheating.
Do I have a strong desire to make amends whenever I think I’ve done something wrong? Are you kidding me? I have a strong desire to make amends even when I haven’t done something wrong! And not solely because I want to do the godly thing. I battle an inordinate desire to make peace that can’t always be others- or God-centered. I dread the backlash of people far more than the backlash of God at times. He’s infinitely more merciful. Depending on how insecure I feel at the moment, having someone upset at me is very unsettling even if I was on the right side of the conflict. I cannot count the times God has had to tell me to cease trying to fix something that insists on staying broken. Loss of favor and approval and harmony is excruciating to people with insecurity.
Here are a few other survey questions that hit the bull’s-eye:
If someone gets angry at me, do I have a hard time not thinking about it? I try to limit myself to obsessing.
Do I sometimes feel anxious for no apparent reason? God knows I do.
Does it hurt my feelings when I learn that someone doesn’t like me? Breaks my heart.
Do I fear that my husband might leave me for someone else? Not all the time. Not most of the time. But more often than I think is healthy.
Did you catch the part of the definition that describes insecurity as “a deep uncertainty about whether his or her own feelings and desires are legitimate”? How often do you have to ask yourself if what you’re feeling is even real? Or if your desires should be quashed or pursued? If you’re discerning or just suspicious? If you were supposed to do “this” or not? If you’re like me, it’s more often than you want to admit.
You might protest with something like this: “But Beth, I feel all those same things and I don’t consider myself insecure.” My question in response would be: How intensely do you feel those things? If you feel as intensely as I do, that woman you see in the mirror probably has a bigger insecurity problem than you’re giving her credit for. Or, more important, seeking healing for.
American Faith 
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