Trigger warning: This deals with deep childhood trauma, survival mechanisms built to adapt to unsafe environments, and the lies that this type of upbringing bakes into the foundation of our lives. This is part three of three.
Part 3 of “Presence Without Performance”
John 1:5
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.(ESV)
There’s something I’ve come to realize, and it hurts to admit: I don’t fit. I never really have. Not in social groups. Not in church circles. Not even in places I helped build. Because I don’t interact with people on the surface. I can’t. I see too much. I don’t mean that arrogantly. I’m not claiming prophetic power or psychological insight. I’m simply saying—I see behind the curtain. When someone walks into a room, I don’t see the mask they put on that day. I see the why behind it. I see the fear. The exhaustion. The flicker of pain behind the polished grin. And that makes people uncomfortable.
When You See What Others Hide
We live in a world addicted to image. People curate themselves like brands. We’re told to shine, succeed, sanitize—and if we fall apart, we’d better do it in private. But I don’t see the presentation. I see the bruises beneath the makeup. I see the hesitation in their jokes. I hear the unspoken apology under their laughter. And the hardest part? I accept them anyway. That’s what really unsettles people. Not that I see the brokenness. But that I’m not repelled by it.
The Truth That Breaks the Mask
I’ve seen the worst that humanity has to offer—up close and personal. And it didn’t make me hate people. It made me want to hold them. Because once you’ve survived abandonment, disillusionment, spiritual gaslighting, and the death of identity, you stop needing people to be impressive. I don’t need your polish. I don’t need your résumé of spiritual victories. I don’t need your curated highlight reel. I just need the truth.
And when I find it—when I see the little man behind the curtain, ala the Wonderful Wizard of Oz, pulling levers, trembling, terrified he won’t be enough—I don’t shame him. I’m still impressed. Because he’s still trying. Still standing. Still showing up, even if it’s behind an illusion. And that takes more strength than most people realize.
1 Samuel 16:7
But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”(ESV)
Why I Don’t Fit
Most people don’t want to be seen this way. Not yet. They’re not ready.
It’s easier to be validated for what you pretend to be than accepted for who you really are. So when someone like me walks in—someone who doesn’t stop at the surface—it rattles the room. Because if I can see them, then maybe they can’t hide. And if they can’t hide… then maybe they’ll be seen before they’re ready to be loved. And that’s terrifying for people who’ve been told their real self isn’t lovable.
And sadly, many churches have become places where performance is mistaken for presence. Where the lighting, the music, the staged vulnerability—it’s all designed to move people emotionally but avoid exposing the mess underneath.
Isaiah 29:13
And the Lord said: “Because this people draw near with their mouth and honor me with their lips, while their hearts are far from me, and their fear of me is a commandment taught by men,(ESV)
And that’s the tragedy: when churches perform instead of confess, they teach people that God only loves the highlight reel. They reinforce the lie that got us masked up in the first place.
This isn’t to say that all churches do this or that having a performance at church is a bad thing. Hiding the natural flaws that exist, even in a church, gives the wrong impression to people who are hurting, weak, or broken. It’s hard to understand being poor in spirit, broken, and hurting if you’ve never been there.
Why I Stay Anyway
I’ve learned to stand in that discomfort. Not with condemnation. But with open arms. Because I remember what it felt like to be unseen. To be erased. To have your memory wiped by trauma and realize that no one noticed you were gone.
Psalm 42:3
My tears have been my food day and night, while they say to me all the day long, “Where is your God?”(ESV)
That kind of invisibility leaves a scar. But it also creates a superpower: the ability to recognize others who are disappearing behind the same mask.
And I can’t unsee it. So I stay. I speak. I reach. Even when I know I’ll be misunderstood or avoided. Because someone has to love people before they’re ready to love themselves.
Someone has to say:
“You’re still worthy—even if you don’t believe it yet.”
“You’re still lovable—even if you’ve been discarded.”
“I see you—and I’m still here.”
The Man in the Throne Room
When I stand before God, I don’t see the glittering spectacle some people talk about. I don’t see the fog machine version of glory. I see a King who knows what it’s like to be despised and rejected.
I see the crucified one—still bearing scars. And I see the man behind the curtain of religious performances found in churches today. And I’m still in awe.
Hebrews 4:16
Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.(ESV)
Because He doesn’t ask me to be anything but real. He doesn’t demand a mask. He offers mercy.
If you’ve been hiding behind a curtain—if you’re exhausted from pulling levers and maintaining the illusion—you’re not alone. I’m still here. But more than that—Jesus sees through every mask, every wound, every false performance—and He doesn’t walk away.
Take the mask off. You’re not just enough. You’re loved. He’s not repelled by your weakness. He’s not intimidated by your past. He doesn’t need your show. He wants your surrender.
Matthew 11:28
Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.(ESV)
And that—not being seen by me, or even understood by others—is the only thing that will ever truly set you free.
To close this series, give glory to God, and thanks to my wife:
The longer I’m married to my wonderful wife, the more amazed I am at how similar we are. And how completely different. We have both walked through many of the same traumas in different forms. We have both survived many of the same storms that life brings. It was her who loved me first when I was at my most unlovable. She was the one who saw potential in me when I had completely given up. I was drowning in the sea of self-loathing and doubt. She dove in and rescued me. She loved unconditionally. She loved completely. She loved without reservation and with a purity that I had only read about in fantasy novels. Like so many other wonderful ideals, I had thought it to be pure fantasy that human hearts were simply not capable of. Then I see the living embodiment of it. This woman saved me from myself and gave me purpose. She anchored me when storms threatened to push us off course. She was the sail that carried me onward whenever even the slightest breeze blew. She taught me that despite the struggles of life the purity of heart I always hoped was true actually did exist. She has been nothing if not devoted. She has only been loving and kind to me even when I wasn’t capable of returning it.
I see such wonder and mystery in her eyes. Through her, I have found the God who blessed me to have her in my life. She was the glaring antithesis of all that I saw wrong in the world. She was proof that good still existed. Not only existed, but thrived in the rocky soil. She does not understand the blessing I have seen through her. It is a glory song to God every time I get to say her name.
Father, You who sees the end from the beginning, You who placed the cornerstones of all creation, You who taught the birds to fly and flowers to bloom, You alone are worthy of all praise and worship. Yours is the glory of every blessing, even the ones that we will not be aware of in this life. The mountains bow to Your glory. The valleys strive to greet Your face. It’s true that it’s impossible to understand the true depth of Your glory, but that doesn’t mean we should stop singing. Let us praise You, for You are Holy, worship You, because You are worthy, seek You, because You alone are worth being found. Yet, You seek us. You love us. While we were still yet sinners not deserving to know of Your creation, let alone seek the joy of Your glory, You made a way for us to be redeemed so that we may spend eternity in Your presence. We can’t thank you enough.
In Jesus’ name we pray, amen!
Walking With Christ 
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