Cringe, Grace, and Growth: A Faith Story in Progress

Yes, I've said some cringy things

“That’s so cringe, dad.” You parents of teens and tweens probably understand this sentence pretty well. Sometimes intentional and, many times not, I use language my kids find detestable and embarrassing. I’m fairly certain they will come around to see my “coolness” in their adult years (this will happen, right?!). For now, I’m left to find my security in my “coolness” from within, and from my very generous and sweet wife. The truth is, I’ve been saying 'cringe' things for years—ideas I once believed with absolute certainty, only to later realize how misguided they were. Like the time in college I told a friend, “mental health issues are all spiritual problems.” I cringe even typing that now. Thankfully, years of learning, listening, and growth have shifted my perspective entirely. I sincerely hope the person I told this to got the proper help they needed and I’m honored they remained my friend. They have even referred a family member to me for counseling. Whew, dodged a bullet with that one.

Or how about, “It’s just me and Jesus. I don’t need others to help me grow and develop.” Or maybe the worst, “I don’t think a woman could be president.” Yes, I once believed and even said these things. As someone who values the inherent worth of every person and sees kindness and generosity as essential for human flourishing, it is very vulnerable to admit these flowed through my mind and were directed from my mouth to someone else. They all share the trait of a toxic superiority and arrogance that dismisses our shared humanity. I also hope it serves as proof that we are all unfinished—rough drafts being shaped by both our triumphs and failures into the people God designed us to be.

The concept of grace doesn’t come easy to me. As a natural “do-gooder” (despite what these acknowledged comments above might say about me) I have high expectations. Of myself. Of others. I have come to believe this is a trait that can be stewarded well to bring order to chaos, but also can result in a tremendous amount of judgment, criticism and, at times, a sense of superiority. But Jesus. This simple statement has carried so much weight the last 20+ years of my life. I’m still accepting I’m someone, as Brene Brown puts it, worthy of love and belonging. This is inherently how I was created, no matter the number of cringeworthy comments, failures, broken relationships, uncertainty or far from polished parts of me. As I am, I am loved…profoundly.

This is the story within every single story I tell. To be loved with a perfect love is to be known, to be seen and to be accepted just as I am. It means allowing all parts of me—the good, the bad, and the ugly—to be seen and held by the strong, enduring love of God. Rather than hiding behind the armor of competence, I’m learning to embrace all the contradictory parts of myself. I am learning that true transformation doesn’t come from performing or perfecting, but from surrender. It’s not about trying harder to be worthy of love but accepting that love has always been there. God’s grace meets me right in the tension—between who I wish I were and who I actually am—reminding me that my worth isn’t defined by my best moments or my worst. The more I accept this, the more I can extend that same grace to others—to release the judgment, the arrogance, and the need to be right.

As a therapist, I see this same struggle play out in the lives of my clients. We are all carrying stories—stories of shame, of striving, of trying to prove our value. And these stories impact everything—our relationship with ourselves, with God, and with others. But healing begins, counterintuitively, not in more demands of ourselves and others—moving instead from striving to surrender, from hiding to being seen, from earning love to simply acknowledging that love already IS. The more we acknowledge our whole selves and open our hearts to love, the more freedom we find. And that freedom? That’s where real growth happens. That’s where we come alive.