Because of this insecurity, I developed a defensive habit of overcompensating. I stopped speaking like Mary Thompson, the mother and graphic designer, and tried to speak like a seminary professor. I utilized words like "eschatological" when "end times" would have sufficed. I nodded solemnly during board meetings when acronyms were tossed around, terrified to ask for clarification. Last spring, this reached a breaking point. I was tasked with leading the break-out session on Biblical Hospitality. Instead of relying on my own experience, I watched hours of YouTube sermons by dynamic, charismatic speakers like Beth Moore and Priscilla Shirer. I tried to memorize their cadence, their humor, and their dramatic pauses.
By the time the retreat started, I was a nervous wreck. I wasn’t preparing to facilitate a discussion; I was preparing to perform a one-woman show titled "What a Godly Leader Looks Like." I sat in the retreat center lounge, clutching a binder full of notes that weren't mine, reciting theological points I didn't fully internalize. When the session began, the room wasn't just quiet; it was disconnected. I felt the wall go up between me and the twelve women looking for guidance. I was technically "perfect" - I hit every point in the curriculum - but the Holy Spirit was absent. It was dry. It was heavy. It was a disaster of my own making.
That evening, while I was aggressively washing coffee mugs in the retreat center kitchenette, beating myself up for the lack of connection, my mind drifted to 1 Samuel 17:39. We all know the story of David and Goliath, but in ministry, we often skip the most crucial verse: the moment before the battle. King Saul, acting out of genuine helpfulness, dresses David in his own royal armor. He puts a heavy bronze helmet on the boy’s head and a coat of mail on his chest.
From a military standpoint, this was the "correct" way to fight. It was high-value content. It was successful armor. But David couldn't even walk in it. He tells Saul, "I cannot go in these, because I am not used to them." He strips off the royal protection and walks into the valley with only his tunic, a shepherd’s staff, and five smooth stones.
I realized with sudden clarity that I had been trying to fight my spiritual battles wearing Saul’s armor. I was trying to wear the armor of the famous conference speaker, the armor of the academic, and the armor of the extrovert. And I was tripping over it. It was too heavy because it wasn't tailored to my spirit. God didn't call the version of Mary that I wished I was; He called the version of Mary that actually exists. He doesn't need my performance; He needs my authenticity. In trying to mimic the spiritual giants I admired, I had robbed my small group of the specific, unique way God wanted to shine through my imperfections.
That kitchenette epiphany birthed "The Sling Theory." The premise is simple: David defeated the giant not because he had the superior military equipment, but because he utilized the tool he had mastered in the pasture. He used what was in his hand. At the next morning's session, I decided to take off the borrowed armor. I tossed my heavily scripted notes. I didn't try to be profound or charismatic. I sat down and admitted, "Ladies, I was incredibly nervous yesterday. I tried to teach you like a professor because I was afraid simply being a host wasn't enough. Honestly, I’m struggling to feel adequate to lead you."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Postures relaxed. Eyes misted over. We stopped having a "class" and started having a fellowship. I learned that day that God’s power doesn't flow through our pretenses; it flows through our cracks. Since that retreat, I have developed a checklist for myself and the junior leaders I mentor at Grace Community Chapel to ensure we aren't putting on Saul's Armor:
- Check Your Voice: Are you using vocabulary you would use at your dinner table? If not, you are performing.
- Identify Your Sling: What is your natural gift? Is it empathy? Logic? Humor? Hospitality? Lean into that, rather than trying to mimic a gift you don't possess.
- Embrace the Shake: If your voice shakes, let it shake. A trembling, honest voice is more powerful than a steady, fake one.
Now, when I feel that "fraud" feeling creeping in before a Tuesday night study, I mentally check myself: Am I putting on the armor? Or am I trusting my own sling? I’m learning that my own stuttering, imperfect voice, when surrendered to God, strikes the target every time.
