Bar Method, pt. 2

Witnessing the rewards of exercising integrity when I live in the identity Jesus has given me

One Friday night, at a bar downtown with my husband and a couple new friends, I was a changed person and – with each careful inquiry and response – I could feel it. Through God’s supernatural healing, as I trained my speech to reflect my thoughts and feelings honestly, my new sense of self grew stronger. I still spoke with self-interruptions, but I pushed myself through every awkward syllabic slip and any accidental, made-up portmanteaus. Committed to being steadfast, by God’s grace I presented my thoughts without prevaricating. I shared when my thoughts were rudimentary, and instead of instinctively unleashing self-conscious monologues, I chose to be curious, turning my knowledge gaps into opportunities to invite the others to build on my ideas with their perspectives. And when they asked me questions, I did not shy away. I braced myself, feeling the familiar contours of discomfort develop in me, but I coached myself to acknowledge them as I thought through my answers. When I was ignorant, I admitted it, asked for clarity so I could work through my moments of confusion, and openly shared my earnest desire to learn from them.

As we sought to learn more about each other, we described respective families, beginning with the potential impact of sibling order in our individual experiences. When it was my turn, I pounced the memories of my relationship with my brother. I scoffed at my parents’ flagrant partiality toward my brother in childhood, an unjust favoritism which seemed to have kept him in a bubble and transmuted into a sense of entitlement and lack of empathy for others, resembling my father – when I felt myself flush. Before I knew it, my response had warped into discursive, bitter vitriol against the men of my family, and I was about to justify my feelings by thinly veiling them with some generalized social commentary about Korean generational patriarchy.

I was about to lose myself in old movement patterns. I could see the usual outcome: my disjointed speech causing me excruciating discomfort. I could not remedy my own dislocation. I could not help myself; I began to consider my usual source of help. And when I considered God, I could perceive Him encouraging me. While the others could have been judging me, Jesus’ all-encompassing sacrifice and redemptive love and power meant there was hope for me yet. Renewed by the assurance of His security, I took a breath and pivoted back toward honesty, this time contritely. I admitted my hurt and envy toward my brother and father and – as I saw our friends nod understandingly – connected my feelings to our original prompt. Our conversation resumed as though nothing had happened – all of the earlier inner turmoil vanishing. By God’s grace, I had managed to maneuver in just the right way and saved myself painful mortification. As the group moved to another topic, I sat there in awe. No one else knew what had happened, that this sort of recovery was unprecedented for me. I had not lost control over myself; I had regained strength and composure by taking responsibility for my words with honesty.

The rest of the evening was not perfect either, but with God’s help, I moved with more agility and care, recalling my near-injury. Sometimes, I would say the right things and still involuntarily state the wrong words, but I pressed on, correcting myself until I expressed my full intended meaning. When I felt the inward compulsion to blurt out blunt questions or remarks, I adhered to more general subjects and socially sensitive diction. I did not want to revert to people-pleasing habits, but it was also not the right time, place, and context for tirades about emotionally charged topics for our group. I still wanted to be considerate of our new friends as fellow, equal participants in our conversation. And as I fostered earnest social connection, I continued to train my new self.

That night, because God helped me acknowledge my anxiety and resolve my internal conflict, I grew more stable in my identity and self-presentation. I was resolute about living as one of His adopted children and seeing how He would show up for me. I witnessed that my Heavenly Father always responded in compassion and continuous interest, listening to me in all of my speech – both coherent and not. Because of Him, for the first time, I was truly authentic in a context as unfamiliar as a bar with acquaintances-turned-friends. I was able to endure through moments of discomfort while defying my instinctive unbelief, and despite doubting that change was possible, the more I acted out of trust, the stronger my character, confidence and coherence became. The anxiety-induced lapses in my sentences began to dissipate the more I exercised my new identity. When we left the bar and parted ways with hugs and smiles, I felt lighter than I had in all similar past circumstances. And while the whole night had been a positive experience, I felt more energized by the immediate sense of renewal I had received when I had trusted in God. The arduous discipline had revitalized me after much perseverance. As my husband and I went home, I couldn’t stop grinning. This new way of being had been increasingly challenging the more I had done it, but also much more rewarding than I had ever expected. God had shown me the joy and blessing of rightly stewarding my integrity, as I had begun to embody His original design for my humanity.