Stiff.

I'm stiff. If you walk up to hug me, I will most likely tense up and give you a Frankenstein embrace right back. I remember being told prior to my dating years that I hugged like a brick wall (Mom's always shoot it to you straight).

People at church even lovingly poke at me sometimes with an occasional, "I saw you slapping your knee during that third song" or "You moved a little bit."

It goes without saying that crying in church is pretty much a taboo for stiffs like me. It's such surrender. It constitutes a lack of self-control.

Rewind to two Sundays ago. Despite being the worship leader's wife, I often don't get the scoop on the set list. Justin starts singing this Mercy Me song I hadn't heard before.

I've been the one to shake with fear
And wonder if You're even here
I've been the one to doubt Your love
I've told myself You're not enough

That sounds like me. Uh. That really sounds like me.

I've been the one to try and say
I'll overcome by my own strength
I've been the one to fall apart
And to start to question who You are

I start to feel the heat slowly make its way up to my face. This is when I know it's about to go down. Nope. It must be the end of the month or something. You are not touched. Come on. Cue cheesy, repetitive chorus. Please.

You're the one who conquers giants
You're the one who calls out kings
You shut the mouths of lions
You tell the dead to breathe
You're the one who walks through fire
You take the orphan's hand
You are the one Messiah
You are I am.

At this point, my chin has made its way from the ridiculous-looking quibble to the full-fledged spectacle. And you know what? I didn't really care. In that moment, it felt really good.

In that moment I realized:

Satan isn't using alluring, Magic Mike adulterers to deviate my path. He's not a slithering serpent with enticing whispers. He isn't a scary, pitchfork toting Disney character.

He has used beautiful, talented, spiritual women--without their knowledge or consent-- to continually break my spirits down. I have used their strong moments and compared it to my weak ones; their peaks have stood next to my valleys.

I have read the Facebook posts of cancer-stricken mothers and thought, "I wouldn't be able to use this as a ministry. I am so angry for her right now. Why is she not livid?"

I have seen people pack up their stuff and follow God's calling for their life, while enviously accusing God of leaving me out of the calling hat-drawing.

I have watched others angelically sing and pouted because my voice will never bless the ears of those who listen.

I hear people say that they love to read what I write in the same moment that I replay every closed door that has been slammed in my face.

I find it interesting that in 2 Corinthians 11:14, it says: "And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light."

Though this is mostly talking about people who are pretending to be something, I think it could also be stretched to mean that he uses comparisons of perfection to make you beat yourself up. Someone could be truly genuine and be used as Satan's vessel against you if you let it happen.

So be stiff if you're stiff. It doesn't make you any less of a worshipper. Hop around if you want to hop around. You may not be the worship leader's wife archetype (here's looking at me, kid). But in your own way you are exemplifying the change he has made in your life.

If I've done nothing else, I hope that my social faux pas, career disappointments and blatant honesty leave a legacy of realness; one that glorifies his perfectness through my imperfection.

The song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2JI4CPfuLW0