A Demon or My Inner Child?
For the longest time I've struggled with doubt. Ever since I can remember there has been a voice deep inside of me that has sometimes whimpered and sometimes viciously screamed …
I CAN'T DO IT.
I'M WORTHLESS.
MY IDEAS ARE STUPID.
I'LL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING.
When a pop fly came my way on the high school baseball team, when I applied for college, when I stepped into seminary, when I first stood up to preach, when I looked at my name on the sign outside the church and stared at the words, "Pastor Glenn Siepert", when we planted a church in our garage, when I welcomed my first customer at the Apple Store, when I first hit record on the mic for the What If Project - the voice has always been the same - "you can't do it, you might as well not even try."
And this voice only intensifies when someone close to me expresses doubt towards me or my abilities or my dreams. If a family member critiques my motives or a friend or peer or professor begins to question my faith because of a stance I take on a particular theology or church doctrine - the voice comes out of hiding.
Sometimes it whispers the words through tears.
AND.
Other times it screams the words through eyes of rage.
BUT.
The words are always the same - "you can't do it, you might as well not even try."
These words are familiar to me because my father used to speak them to me when I was younger. This isn't about him, so I won't go into much detail. But I remember when I was in the 6th grade I wanted to be a baseball player. I practiced every day and could actually throw 85mph when I was in high school, but my father told me I couldn't do it.
Actually he said …
"How many people who WANT to be baseball players actually make it to the major leagues? Not many. It won't happen."
I also told him I wanted to be a pastor. We would read the Bible together and talk about different verses and stuff and I remember one time he didn't like the way I understood a particular Bible story because it challenged the way he understood it and he told me, "you don't know what you're talking about, you'll make a terrible pastor."
I could go on and on with the stories, but when I was in Bible college and seminary I was taught that the sometimes whimpering and sometimes screaming voice of doubt in me was a demon and that the entry point of the demon into my life was during one of the many episodes where my father told me or made me feel like I'd never amount to anything.
"The key", I was told, "is to discern when the demon got there and then cast it out in the name of Jesus."
And so that's what I have been trying to do - from the year 2000 when I was first got into Bible College all the way through my last year in seminary in 2017 I command that voice inside to …
"COME OUT IN THE NAME OF JESUS."
"BE SILENT IN JESUS' NAME."
I told the voice that …
It had no right to be here.
It wasn't welcome here.
It was a liar.
It was a fraud.
It should go to the pit of hell and rot there.
I told the voice that …
I hated it.
I despised it.
I rejected it.
… And sometimes it seemed to work. Sometimes weeks and even months would go by where I would think, "I finally did it - I said the right prayers and did all the right Bible reading plans and somehow got the recipe right that has finally rid my life of this demon once and for all."
BUT.
Every.
Single.
Time.
The voice would come back. Like I said, sometimes it would be a few weeks and sometimes a few months, but for the last 20 years there would always be something that would happen or something that would be said that would draw that voice out of hiding and bring those words to the ears of my mind …
"You can't do it."
"You might as well not even try."
"You'll never amount to anything."
"Why are you doing this podcast? It's stupid."
A few months ago I was in the midst of an intense amount of grief over an interaction I had with someone close to me concerning the podcast. The individual expressed their dissatisfaction with me and my work and all of a sudden the hinges blew off the door that the demonic voice was behind and it came out with an ocean-full of fury. It was so bad and so intense that over this past year I have actually considered stopping the podcast altogether on multiple occassions …
"Maybe I'll just delete all of my social media accounts one day and just … disappear?"
"Maybe I'll tell people I'm tired and need a break?"
"Maybe I'll tell people I'm going on to do something different?"
"Maybe I'll just hand over the What If Project and all the login info to someone more capable?"
"I just can't do this."
One day a few months ago I was telling my friend about this. Actually, he's part friend, part mentor, part therapist, part pastor, part brother, part father … lots of things in one. I was telling him about the voice and how for years and years and years I've been trying to cast it out and send it to hell and silence it. I was pouring out my heart to him and telling him how I just can't live with it anymore and am at the end of my rope and I will never ever forget what he said …
"The voice inside of you is not a demon, it's a small version of yourself. Maybe the 5, 6, 7, 8 year old version of Glenn. And every time he whimpers or screams that he can't do it or is going to fail or wants to give up - every time he comes out of hiding it's because he's looking for the reassurance that your father and other important voices in his life withheld from him and never gave him."
Wait.
What?
He went on to explain that every prayer against that voice and every attempt to cast that voice out only hammered that little boy deeper into the ground with the same hammer that my father used. He told me that perhaps it was time to stop trying to cast the voice out and befriend it instead … or, better yet, to parent or father the child inside of me.
What a revelation this was.
He asked me what I would do if my daughter, Jordan, came to me whimpering or screaming that she was incapable or stupid or a failure. "Me?", I asked. "I would get down on my knee, look at her in the eyes, wipe her tears away, and tell her how wonderful and gifted she is. I would tell her it's OK to be scared. And I would tell her that we will get through this together, that I will be there to help her, to walk with her, and to cheer her on. I can't imagine doing anything else."
And then it dawned on me - what if this is what I need to do with the little version of myself that lives inside of me? When I am overcome with doubt and insecurity, what if I put him on my knee and tell him the truth of who he is, remind him that he's not alone, and assure him that we will walk this journey together? What if I embrace him instead of push him away? What if I draw him close instead of cast him out?
As a creator, my friend told me, it is crucial that I learn to live with this voice inside because, he said, that voice and the wound that it speaks from is the power behind what I do on the podcast.
"Your podcast", he said, "is a place that does what? It makes everyone feel welcome. It tells everyone that they belong. It tells everyone that it's OK to be different, it's OK to be cast out of your tribe. It tells everyone that they have a place. That they are loved by God and you just the way they are. Your podcast creates for others the very safe place you always longed for as a child … silencing that voice will diminish and cut back the power behind what you do and that would be detrimental to many people, especially yourself."
I'm beginning to realize that the little Glenn inside of me will always be there and that he will always have the lingering doubts and insecurities that stem from his experiences as a young boy.
BUT.
Grown up Glenn, 38 year old Glenn, Glenn the Father - I have the power to do to him what my father always did OR I have the power to do for him what my father should have done, what I (as a father) will do my very best to do for Jordan. I can welcome him. I can listen to him. I can reassure him.
And this will be a lifetime of work - that voice has been shut down and beaten into submission for 38 years by my father, pastors, professors, friends, and me … and so it only makes sense that he will need to hear my reassurances for the rest of my life.
Year 39 starts for me on January 25, 2021 and I intend to start doing just that - to give him the love and reassurance he needs and deserves.
I wonder: what voices inside of you are annoying and frustrating and distracting? Might they be the whimpers and screams not of a demon or a spirit or your inner critic … but might they be a small version of yourself? What would it look like for you to put that small child on your knee today and reassure him/her/them and be the voice they need and deserve?
Much love.
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