The Walking Stick Journal

Stepping Stones of Transformation

An Unfolding Manuscript

by

C.D. Baker

Chapter Ten: Permission

The idea of permission is rarely included among the beautiful experiences of life like goodness, kindness or love. That is because we usually think of it in purely transactional terms, like buying a ticket to permit our boarding a plane. This kind of permission is about ‘doing.’ 

We too easily miss the implications of the deeper permission granted to our ‘being.’ The fact is, deep permission is a relational activity running in the background of much of how we experience life. Loved ones and friends unconsciously ‘permit’ us to share life with them because they have accepted us–because they trust us for who we are.

In healthy human interactions, granting permission demonstrates a level of trust; asking for it demonstrates respect for the other’s sanctity. 

The granting of permission is a welcoming that goes on to fuel trust. Trust goes on to build the security of attachment, and healthy attachment is key to human thriving. In the end, the experience of permission is integral to human wholeness.

When next gathered around a holiday table, we might do well to pause and soak in the beauty of belonging granted to us so naturally. Upon reflection we might realize that the unspoken permission of acceptance may be among the most blessed gifts we share.

When next walking under the stars, we might do well to pause and turn our hearts upward to recognize the beauty of belonging granted to each of us from beyond. We might realize that permission for us to simply ‘be’ may be among the most blessed gifts that a good God offers. 

***

Summer, 2020

I took my seat and scanned my notes as Bill got settled. My days have been a jumble of awakening and resistance. Covid has not helped.

Discouraged, I told Bill through my mask that I’m exhausted by the struggle of this process. Before he could answer, I blurted, “A couple of nights ago, the inner Voice returned and asked, ‘Will you let me be your Father? Will you even try?’ The invitation felt kind, even gentle…and in those early hours I was tempted to say yes. But it was disorienting, too.

“This stuff seems to always happen when I’m half asleep–when I can’t think clearly.”

Bill’s eyes smile. “Good.”

“Anyway, the next day when I was hiking, I realized that I really don’t even know how to be a son. That was my answer.” As I said it, I sensed the answer was a deflection.

He nods. “I understand, but I want to see how astonishing it is that God is asking you for permission.”

I grunt, then acknowledge that permission has been an unspoken theme in my life; that my happiest times have always been when I felt free to just be me. Like high school and college years.

“That’s when it felt okay for you to just be you…to be human,” says Bill. 

We wait until he adds, “And you don’t feel that very often, do you?”

“No.”

Bill adjusts his mask. “We feel it naturally when we experience safe attachment as a child. Permission to be gives us our sense of healthy be-ing. We learn to simply assume that we are acceptable and loveable.”

I scribble notes.

He takes a slow breath. “But you adapted to life in a maze–an unclear path where you had to navigate a lack of this permission.”

Is he right?

Bill then says something about my having to learn diplomacy at an early age. I immediately wonder if that’s why I’ve always felt like I was negotiating with God. 

He senses my distraction. “And?”

I tell him.

Bill nods. “I get that. But God has just invited you to let him be your father. Good fathers don’t have to negotiate their love.”

That would mean permission to be imperfect? I bite the inside of my cheek.

Bill notices. “This is unfamiliar.”

He’s right, and a surge of suspicion rises. I wonder what strings God is planning…

“Sometimes we have to dismantle false images of the god we’ve imagined in favor of the God who loves us.”

How does he know?

“A lifetime of conditioning can be subtle, and not experiencing permission to be who you are creates a great deal of trouble for anyone.” Bill pauses and I can feel him studying me. 

I’m holding my pen over my note pad. My face mask feels wet.

He continues in a steady cadence, “Without permission to be who we are, we don’t feel acceptable and so we dare not trust. Without trust, we can’t experience comfort. Without comfort, we don’t know what to do with fear. Against all of this, we adapt…you adapt.”

Shallow breaths. 

His face sets. “You maintain very strong defenses against the fear: you defer joy as if to guard it for another time; you resist encouragement because you expect it will be taken away. You judge yourself, harshly, yet grant others permission to be who they are.” 

He’s right. I stare ahead.

“You’ve learned how to live as if you are unworthy of joy or happiness or peace.” He leans forward and his eyes soften. “But you can trust a Father who loves you enough, who respects you enough…who is kind enough… to ask your permission to walk alongside you just as you are.”

Bill’s voice fades away as the inner Voice returns. “Will you let me do that…?” My insides flutter; I’m so tempted to say yes.