by Kat Silverglate ©2024

You’re little right? And you’re standing in line at an amusement park ride. You know in your head it’s just a ride, but still, you’re little. So your adrenaline is running higher and higher as you draw close to the entry point.

To a kid, the track looks like the real deal. Bright popping colorful cars with big numbers and logos and fake sponsors dot the course. Bucket leather seats with seatbelts that come over your shoulders and hold your torso sit low to the ground. The steering wheels are small and close to your knees and covered with thick black rubber. The sound of revving engines and announcers is deafening.

This wasn’t the harmless plastic Dumbo that went up and down or the Tea Cups that admittedly spun fast, but were in no danger of flying off the saucer and hitting an innocent bystander. This “ride” looked and sounded like a legit mini racetrack.

It must have been 1972 when the theme park opened, so I’m guessing I was nine at the time? On opening day it was called The Grand Prix Raceway at Disney. Now it’s the Tomorrowland Speedway.

I don’t remember who took me on the ride, but I do remember squishing my little body into the low seat and holding on for dear life as a recorded announcement warned with the gravity of a nuclear power plant safety patrol: “do not hit the car in front of you” “stay in your lane” “do not leave your vehicle for any reason.”

In my mind, I couldn’t understand how these lunatics were going to let a little girl drive a car around a track. What if I crashed? Hit another car? Sped out of control? Hit a wall? When the go signal lit up, I pressed the gas pedal a fraction of an inch and nothing happened. Another fraction and nothing. My foot was practically to the ground before the car kicked into some kind of slow jerky motion. Finally, I floored it. A sloth would have beat us to the finish.

And then the thunking started. The course would angle right and I’d attempt to steer in the direction of the designated path, but the wheel would over-correct and the vehicle would make an extreme right. Before I could yank back to the left, I’d hear a loud THUNK and the car would jerk back toward center. I’d try to turn left and the car would over-correct again, thunk-again, jerk back to center and then turn whatever way I was yanking the wheel.

Right… thunk, left… thunk, right… thunk -- all the way to the end of the track. THUNK, THUNK, THUNK.

Eventually, I spotted the metal guardrail painted the same color as the track that ran down the center of each lane preventing drivers from going off course. The thunk was my tire hitting the guardrail forcing a course correction that kept me going in roughly the direction of my designated lane. This explained the thunk sound but it didn’t shed any light on why I couldn’t steer the car. I could see others who were barely thunking at all. Concluding that I must have a lemon, I decided to try it again with a different car. The results were the same. Thunk, thunk, thunk. The car wasn’t defective. It was me.

Fast forward to my late 30’s. I’m practicing law with an incredible law firm. I’m married to my college sweetheart. I have a healthy thriving son. I’m writing and speaking and serving in areas where I feel deep passion. We’ve joined a church that is filled with anointed preaching and loving members. By all external measures, I’m on top of the world. But by internal measures, I’m struggling.

Somewhere along the line, I seem to have gotten the idea in my head that I’m not allowed to THUNK. Not in public, anyway. Somewhere I picked up the notion that I needed to be able to get through life without ever needing help from others or a course correction. When I struggled, I went into a back room or closed my door and tried to figure it out and then I’d emerge TA-DA, appearing right as rain. Course corrections were out of the question because that meant I had failed. Was defective. A lemon. After all, I could see others doing what I was doing and they didn’t appear to be thunking at all.

So God, in his mercy, forced a correction. Doctors discovered some lesions on my brain [my health is fine now by the way]. I stopped everything to tend to my health. In a strange way, I was relieved that this medical challenge gave me a reason to get off the performance wheel – to stop driving myself relentlessly to appear perfect to an imperfect world. Oh, I knew I wasn’t and couldn’t be, but I didn’t know how to let others see the broken parts of me.

I did therapy. It helped. I started to go deep in the church. It helped. I joined a small group [three women] and I began to let them in – a little. It helped. But somewhere I still believed I couldn’t THUNK publically. And then my pastor appointed me [without asking me first] as the Director of Women Ministry for my church. I told him NO. He told me this is what I needed. I didn’t understand but reluctantly agreed.

Weeks into this leadership role, a woman said to a friend of mine, “you know she’s going to have to get off her pedestal in order to do this job.” She was calling out my “only show em your good side” persona. It utterly pierced me because she saw behind my facade. It was clear in that moment that the only way off that pedestal was to fall off or to climb down. Climbing seemed like the better of the two options, so I started my descent. 

I started to confess my struggles. My weaknesses. I started THUNKING with the women. “I really don’t know what I’m doing here. We’re gonna have to figure this out together girls.” We’d read a passage like – “bear one another’s burdens” and I’d do my feeble best to go first. To THUNK out loud in front of them.

And, you know what? Nobody moved away. To the contrary, they moved in. Closer. So they could THUNK too. The more real we were, the more able we were to pray and study and minister to each other. We learned together that:

More, we learned that nearly everybody is reluctant to THUNK with others until they see how God uses his kids to minister to each other. We stopped seeing THUNKING as a defect. Stopped looking at spiritual maturation as a disease. It isn't.

It is a process full of course corrections. And it has a sound.

THUNK THUNK THUNK.  

So eventually, we named our Women’s Ministry the B.A.D. Girls of ECC, Bold and Devoted to the One who set us free. Our vision statement was simple – real women get healed. They did. And they do. 

We read in Galatians 6:2:

Tim Keller describes the intimacy of the process this way:

“Picture how you help a person who is trying to carry a load that is too heavy. To help with a burden, you must first come very close to the burdened person, standing virtually in their shoes. Next, you must put your own strength under the burden so its weight is distributed on both of you, thus lightening the load for the original bearer. To “carry the burden” means to come under it and let some of its weight, responsibility, and pain come to you.”

Tim Keller

The B.A.D. Girls decided to add John 15:15 to the burden bearing mission. When Jesus says to the disciples that He calls them friends because He makes known to them all the Father has made known Him, he gives us a glimpse into burden-bearing friendships. We committed to taking all we knew of the Father and to give it to each other. Together, we gave what we had at our level of maturity and we sought others for what we did not have. And in the process, we matured. We grew. We came alive.

And it was only possible because we saw THUNKING with each other as essential to spiritual maturity. It was only possible because we stopped treating spiritual growth like something to be avoided. It is a process that involves a ton of course correction. And it has a sound... THUNK THUNK THUNK.

OUR MISSION:

In your Mission Pack you have a colorful race car. If you don't have one, click on the link on this page to receive one. On the back of the car, you'll see a bumpy road with the word THUNK and a phrase -- "Keep thunking your way through it."

Consider putting that car in a place where you can see it all month long. Each day in April, consider asking yourself this question -- do I see THUNKING [allowing others to bear my burdens in the family of faith] as a weakness? Are you THUNKING? Are you THUNKING with others who will take everything they know of the Father and give it to you? Are you seeking out people who are mature in faith? Are you giving all you know of the Father to those who appropriately offer their burdens? Would you say you are maturing spiritually? Is this a missing piece for you? 

Spiritual Maturity is not a disease.

It is a process that involves constant course correction.

And it has a sound.

THUNK THUNK THUNK