I baked some resurrection rolls the other day for our Easter Sunday service. It was my first time making them. I’m fairly confident in baking, but I don’t usually bake bread, and this recipe was particularly odd. Somehow, I forgot that I was supposed to halve the marshmallows, and well… my rolls looked less like an empty tomb and more like an explosion from within one. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but they didn’t look quite how they were supposed to.
But they didn’t taste too bad, so I sent them anyway. If the Lord asks us to come as we are and welcomes us anyway, my imperfect resurrection rolls would surely be welcome too.
During this process, I kept thinking about the importance of showing up just as we are, with all our flaws and scars. It’s hard to do. We so often want to show the world our best selves. And while rounding off our rough edges is sometimes necessary, there are moments when we simply need to drop the façade, like in therapy, genuine friendships, or intimate relationships.
The challenge is, how do we make that switch? Especially when, in something new, we’re still using our best behaviour—being polite, pleasant, and acceptable. Vulnerability takes time. But then therapy asks for it right away. That’s a big ask. And yet, maybe that’s what makes it possible: sitting across from someone you don’t know, someone trained to hold space for your unpolished truth.
I remember how long it took for me to let the ‘ugly’ parts of myself be seen in therapy—the parts that questioned whether my sister, who died by suicide, went to heaven, or that carried anger towards my mum and quiet resentment towards my dad. But slowly, something softened. I stopped worrying about my therapist’s opinion of me, and that rippled through to my ordinary life. I spoke my mind more, wrote, pretended less and showed more of who I truly was. I had a better idea of where my wounds were and what I needed to do to heal them. I started understanding myself better. And it was so freeing.
Maybe this is the point: the freedom is in showing up. Not perfectly, not neatly packaged. Just honestly. That’s when the healing begins. Because how can we expect to be helped to heal if we never let our wounds be seen?
If you truly believed you were already accepted just as you are, and loved for being that person, what would you do differently, or how would you be different?
PS. The rolls did make it to church. There were many others on offer too, but when I asked my youngest if she’d tried anyone else’s, she shook her head. “No,” she said, “I only had yours. I wanted people to see that yours were the best.” Bless her! What have I done right in life to deserve such wholehearted love?
