The Hidden Peace: Finding True Security, Strength, and Confidence Through Humility

COPYRIGHT

The Hidden Peace

© 2024 Joel Muddamalle

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ISBN 978-1-4003-3534-3 (audiobook)

ISBN 978-1-4003-3533-6 (eBook)

ISBN 978-1-4003-3532-9 (softcover)

Epub Edition MARCH 2024 9781400335336

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023941250

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To Britt,

This book would not have been possible without you.

Thank you for always keeping me rooted in truth.

Loved you first.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Foreword by Lysa TerKeurst

Introduction

Part 1: Living the Frustrated, Fearful Life

1. Missing: Peace, My Mind, Etcetera

2. From Panic to Honesty to Rest

Part 2: Fighting to Make My Way Work

3. I Can’t Keep It All Together: Human Control

4. I Have to Win at All Costs: Human Strength

5. I’m Not Sure I’ve Got What It Takes: Human Power

6. My Heart Tells Me So: Human Pride

7. I Don’t Trust Limits: Pride Continued

Part 3: Transforming My Way Into The Way of Humility

8. Grasp It (Forget the Lies)

9. Cultivate It (Begin the Practice)

10. Embody It (Like Jesus)

11. Redefine It (Like Paul)

12. Safeguard Yourself with It (Build Resilience)

Part 4: Living the Secure, Peaceful Life

13. It’s Meant to Be Mutual

14. A Soft Heart Can Be Firm

15. When Bad Things Happen to Humble People

Conclusion: The Art of Staying Humble

Appendix: Getting Grounded in Scriptural Humility

Acknowledgments

Notes

About the Author

FOREWORD

The holy land is so special to me. Every time I land and walk through the Tel Aviv airport, I whisper, My soul is at home. This land that has seen so many changes through thousands of years has profoundly changed me.

One of my favorite stops is in Bethlehem. Some people don’t like all the commercialism there. I get that. But if you ever go, please visit the Church of the Nativity.

This ancient church was built and rebuilt over the place where it is believed Mary gave birth to Jesus. If you were to visit this site today, you’d enter the church through a small door called the Door of Humility. As you approach the door marking the entrance, you’ll see that it’s much smaller than a standard door. In order to step inside, you have to bend your body low as you pass through the doorway.

As I entered this sacred space for the first time, I was struck by this thought: God wants us on our faces before him, and there are two different pathways to get there.

People who choose the pathway of humility before God choose to bow low out of reverence, honor, and dependence. Others choose the path of humiliation instead. One ends up on their face before the Lord by choosing to bow low, while the other trips and falls there. Either way, both eventually end up on their faces before the Lord.

James 4:10 says, Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up (NIV).

So I shouldn’t be afraid of lowering myself in humility. But I should be aware of how pride can sneak in and cause us to fall in humiliation.

You might be hesitant to pick up and read a book on the topic of humility. I get it. Humility is often one of those topics we set high on a shelf thinking we’ll address it one day, but it doesn’t feel urgent for today.

Friend, can I lean in close and whisper something I’ve learned? Today is that day.

It’s better to embrace and face our need for humility right here, right now, than to be knocked down in humiliation after a major fall or disastrous choice that echoes throughout all areas of our lives, the lives of the people around us, and the legacy we’ll leave behind.

When it comes to talking and learning about humility, I believe Dr. Joel Muddamalle is the right person to walk with us through this conversation. Joel is a dear friend of mine, and together we have logged thousands of study and research hours on many different topics from Scripture. His humble approach to theology is refreshing to me, and I always learn so much from him.

I believe The Hidden Peace will not only encourage you deeply but will help you see your life and God’s ways in a whole new light.

If you fear being outed, misunderstood, or wrecked if you take steps in this direction, you’re in good company. It can feel so scary. Humility is never bought at a cheap price. It will always cost us something, but it will be worth the price we pay. I’m learning that humility not only costs us something; it also comes with a payout in the form of peace.

Peace. It’s what we’re all after, isn’t it? Peace in our hearts and minds, in our homes, in the work we do, and in our relationships. As you work your way through the pages of this book, I pray that your heart (and mine) will be able to experience true peace from Jesus when we allow humility to shape our thoughts and decisions.

I want that so much.

I’m praying that you and I will see how God isn’t trying to break our hearts or control us but rather make us ready for what he sees just ahead. Humility breeds peace, and peace creates a heart at rest.

Much love from me to you, friend.

—LYSA TERKEURST

INTRODUCTION

I’ve always felt a little out of place, as if I lived in two different worlds. I was born in the great city of Chicago and watched Michael Jordan soar in the air, wondering if he was ever going to come down. There was a Chicago deep-dish pizza spot around every corner and a Portillo’s, with Chicago-style hot dogs, five minutes from my house. If you know, you know. If you don’t, I’m sorry.

But though I was born in Chicago and was later raised there, I lived in India from the ages of two to five. Yep, I’m Indian. Like, from the country of India, home of the best bread you’ve ever had—garlic naan.

My parents left India in their early twenties to come to America. My mom was finishing her nursing degree and my dad was working night shifts as an X-ray technician. While my parents worked hard to create a strong foundation for their new life in America, they sent me to live with my grandparents in India. They trusted my grandparents and my mom’s three sisters and two brothers to raise me an ocean away from them. I can’t imagine how hard that was for my parents, but this is what good parents do, right? They sacrifice for their kids. And my parents have a long history of sacrificing for their children.

So during those early years of my life, I ate Indian food, spoke Telugu (a major dialect of India), and lived my best life running the streets of a village called Jangaon outside the city of Hyderabad. It was in this little village that I experienced true safety, security, and stability.

My grandfather, K. M. John, was the headmaster of a prestigious local high school (and later, college). Everyone in the town knew him and, therefore, knew me. I would regularly go with him to work, sit in classrooms, and watch him teach. I knew exactly who I was and where I fit in life. I was the grandson of K. M. John, and my place was wherever he was.

Then, everything changed.

My parents were ready for me to come back to Chicago. So five-year-old Joey (that’s what my family calls me) went back to America. I wish I could say that my return to the States was like the Eddie Murphy movie Coming to America—a prince of a foreign country stepping foot in America with the red carpet rolled out for him. But nah, that wasn’t it. I quickly learned that I was no prince in this strange new land.

The first thing that struck me was how cold it was in Chicago compared to the warmth of Jangaon. The second thing I noticed was that I didn’t look like the majority of the people; my skin was much darker. The third thing I realized was the food was different, and everyone used these weird things called forks, spoons, and knives to eat really bland food. In India we used our hands to eat, and the food was spicy—anything but boring. These three things—the weather, the people, and the culture—started to shake my sense of safety, security, and stability.

This was only the beginning of a thorough destabilization.

One of the first things my parents did to transition me into my new life in America was enroll me in a private Christian school. I expected this, of all places, to be where I’d feel the most comfortable. I mean, in India I’d basically lived in schools and watched my grandfather teach students, so this school thing would come naturally to me, right?

It turned out to be more complicated than I’d expected.

Coming right from India, my native language was Telugu. While I could understand English and speak a few words of it, I wasn’t fluent. On the first day of class, I followed a crowd of kids walking into the classroom, feeling anxious since it was all so different from Indian schools. In the corner of the room, a bunny sat in a plastic cage, staring at us as we filed in. Corny posters hung on the walls, hinting at our coming adventures in learning.

Kids started finding seats. I didn’t know where I was supposed to sit until I saw four familiar letters, J-o-e-l, on a name tag on a desk at the front. Relieved, I made my way to it and felt a surge of confidence, ready to dazzle my teacher and all the students with my brilliance.

The teacher started the day with an icebreaker and asked everyone if they had a pet.

I knew this answer! Without even thinking about it, I raised my hand and said heartily, Dog.

Life would have been awesome if the conversation had ended here, but it didn’t. She had a follow-up question (I hate follow-up questions). Do you have a pet dog?

"Yes, dog," I responded, with continued conviction, mingled with a bit of creeping fear.

Then came another follow-up question: So what is your dog’s name?

I froze. My English vocabulary was pretty much at its end. I started to panic. With fabricated confidence I repeated, DOG!

Every kid in that classroom laughed. Not a little chuckle but a deep belly laugh. The teacher giggled. I think even the class pet, that weird bunny in the plastic cage who never stopped staring at me, was laughing at me.

There was one person who wasn’t adding to the roar, and that was me.

The rest of that day is a bit of a blur in my memory, but my mom says I came home crying and yelling, I want to go back home to India, to Jangaon! I wanted to go back to safety, security, and stability, where I knew my place and everyone else knew me.

That classroom moment is my first memory of being truly hurt. I don’t mean just hurt feelings, like when someone didn’t share a toy, or the pain from falling off a bike. This was a different kind of hurt. The kind that slowly makes its way deep into your soul. The kind of pain that makes you angry, then sad, then confused and frustrated, then angry again. It’s a feeling that burrows to the core of your being over time, a type of deep-seated pain that actually begins to change who you are. Decades later, I can still remember the shame I felt when everyone was laughing at me in that classroom—that’s how profound the impact was.

This change-who-you-are hurt left me with intense fears. It made me realize for the first time that the world was not a safe place.

What did I do with this information? How did I react?

I vowed that I would never let someone put me down or make fun of me again. I promised myself that I would always be the smartest person to walk into any room. And if I wasn’t the smartest person, I would walk right out and never go back. I swore to myself that before someone could begin to make fun of me, I’d be witty and cunning enough to flip the script and turn the joke onto them.

I hated the feeling of being embarrassed and belittled so much that, according to my mom, I became fluent in English and lost my accent within just four weeks. While languages did come pretty easily to me as a kid, I worked hard at this. I was willing to do whatever it took to live an unhurt life.

Maybe you can pinpoint your own version of this memory—the first time you realized the world didn’t feel safe, when you were deeply hurt, when that pain created an even deeper fear of being hurt again. You also could probably name multiple times you’ve felt this way throughout your life—when pain absolutely gutted you and you had to live with the weight of new vulnerabilities and fears.

I’m pretty sure fear plagues most people in the world, but few of us will acknowledge it. And, as we’re insisting, Oh, I’m fine, the fear and hurt we’re living with is robbing us of peace.

So, before you start saying that fear is not that big of a deal for you, hang with me for a second. What if you made a decision not to dismiss fear so easily? What do you think would happen?

I think if we can be brave enough to admit it’s there and look closely at it, we can start to understand it. And if we can understand it and what has caused it, we can actually do something about how it compromises peace in our lives.

The fears we carry can look lots of different ways:

fear of being exposed

fear of being caught off guard

fear of being let down

fear of looking foolish

fear of being hurt

fear of being vulnerable

fear of failure

fear of danger

fear of emotional reactions

fear of being found out (examples: I’m not a good parent. I’m a horrible Christian. I’m not good at my job.)

fear of being wrong

fear of being rejected

I think if we were brutally honest with ourselves, we’d see that we are utterly controlled by some of these fears.

You might have the same reaction to identifying fears as I did years ago. I thought I had to get to a place in my life where nothing could hurt me. I wanted to figure out how to live unhurt—to avoid every fear and eliminate every weakness so nothing could touch me—so I’d feel safe enough to have peace.

If only, right?

This mindset is both a human instinct and a hopeless pursuit God never meant for us. As I learned what the Bible says about weakness and the pain that comes along with life, I realized that God never leads us to seek invincibility—it isn’t even realistic.

And if we stubbornly resist reality, we’ll live in a constant state of frustration. Our approach to finding lasting peace will never work. This is why we have to face reality: we aren’t invincible, and we never will be. We all have fears that can lead us to experience hurt or to cause hurt in others.

God knows this.

And he has a way out for us.

He says to us now what he said to the apostle Paul: My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9 ESV).

This is vitally important for us. Here’s why: it lets us know that experiencing peace isn’t about dismissing fear, denying weaknesses, or avoiding pain. It’s about acknowledging our fears and weaknesses and processing our pain in a way that redeems and brings meaning to all the hard stuff we’ve endured. Doing this brings internal peace, which then flows out to our external lives.

We will never be able to reverse our hurtful experiences. But we can redirect all our hurt toward the God who brings beauty out of ashes and let him lead us on a journey of experiencing his ultimate good for our lives.

Is this how our culture tells us to step into a good life? Not even close. We get a barrage of messages more like this:

If I pursue (human) strength, I can cover up my weakness.

If I gain (human) power, I can overcome my feelings of insecurity.

If I achieve a sense of control, I can stop my life from falling apart.

In other words, if we can just win, no matter the cost, we will find the peace we’ve been longing for.

It’s self-reliance, denial of weakness, and pretention all the way. And it never, ever works.

That’s why we so desperately need the peace Scripture leads us into, even if the path it takes us on is surprising. It all begins with owning our lack of security, strength, and confidence. It’s the exact opposite of self-reliance. This is what it takes to develop a God-given assurance that we can handle heartache—because we’ve thoroughly embraced dependence on him.

It all begins with humility.

The lost practice of humility is how you move toward strength, security, and stability. It is the means to the hidden peace you’ve been longing for.

You may have heard the saying Humility isn’t thinking less of yourself; it’s thinking of yourself less. This is true, but I don’t think it’s complete. As I’ve studied humility in the Bible, I’ve found there are three parts to it: rightly understanding God, ourselves, and others. And the order matters. It doesn’t start with focusing on ourselves; it starts with focusing on God.

Here’s my definition: Humility is an awareness of who God is, which defines who we are and allows us to rightly relate to other people. It generates a settled steadiness in our soul and a capacity for fulfilling relationships. It gives us what we need to courageously move through every hard place in life and develop every