The Prayer You Were Never Allowed to Pray | Unforced (Week 3) | Chad Belew

Hey, I'm going to start this week.

We're continuing our series, "Unforced." I'm going to start this week with a confession.

Anybody who's worked with me at this church already knows this. You can see this group

right here. Already is going to be trouble. I'm not good with grief. You don't have to

laugh. I'm not good with grief. Not mine. Not yours. Give me almost any other hard conversation

and I'm fine. Doubt, deconstruction, hell, politics, questions. The questions you were

told not to ask anyone, sit down. Let's go. I'm in. But tell me somebody your life is really

sick or has died and I can say I'm sorry and I mean it. I truly do care. Then if you want

to sit down and start talking about those feelings, I'm like a fish out of water. I'm

like looking for the door. Not because I don't love you, but because something in me doesn't

know what to do in that room. I've thought about where that comes from for quite a while.

I think there's a few things. Some of it is just wiring. It's personality in me. I don't

like negative feelings. I'm like no, we're happy. Let's, on the Enneagram, I'm a seven,

which just means I won the Enneagram. But also that I don't know how to deal with negative

emotions. Some of it's experience. You've heard me talk about Iraq and my time in service

and a nervous system that's learned over these deployments and this time to like shut shut

a door fast. It doesn't love leaving one open that has to talk about those type of emotions.

But a lot of it as I've kind of dug into this more, probably most of it is how I was raised.

What I mean, including and maybe, maybe especially in church. Because nobody ever taught me to

grieve. I was taught to get past things, trust God, be strong for everybody else. Men don't

cry. Everything happens for a reason. They're in a better place. God needed another angel.

I would reach for those sentences the way that like you reach for like a light switch

in a dark room during a better place. All right. We're happy now, right? Fast, not thinking

about it. Flip the light on. Because the dark was uncomfortable and the switch was right

there. Just I had the line. And here's why I'm telling you this on a Sunday. I don't

think I'm the only one in this room here that was built like this. Somebody in your life

is hurting right now. And you already know what you're going to type on their Facebook

page. Remember when Facebook added the little emoji that's like the little hug emoji? It's

like, oh, sweet. Now I got something. I can just do that. I don't love what you posted,

but I can hug you. You know, like I'm praying for you. Maybe a little heart emoji. Maybe

the hug emoji. Let me know if you need anything, which we all know means like, please don't.

I've sent that text. Somebody, like I, I love to scroll through Instagram. I get stuck.

Mine and I were talking about this the other day. Like I don't see posts a lot of times.

I see stories and I see reels because I get stuck in a reel and I'm just anybody else.

And there was a clip that I saw a while back. Do you guys, do you guys save reels and stuff

on your Instagram? Man, I have so many saved. And I have a folder that's like, say something

about this that I never say anything about or like, hey, remember this or hey, look this

up. And the other day, I was like, I don't ever go back to these. Let me go look. And

I went into the folder. It was like, hey, remember this. And I found this clip from a

lady. Her name is Dr. Oka Joshy Hanson. Joshy Joshy. I think she's a futurist. She works

on this idea of like, how kids learn. She started out as a public school teacher. She's

a first generation American, first in her family to finish college. And she didn't just

finish college. Like she went and got a doctorate from Oxford in philosophy and neuroscience.

And then went and got a law degree from Harvard. Because who doesn't do that? I short a book,

a book called The Future of Smart. And when I was listening to like, how she talked about,

I went through a ton of her reels, but how she talked about how kids learn and how our

education system is not set up well for kids to learn or that it is set up well for kids

to learn a specific way. But I was watching her, this real talk that she gave in. I've

got a clip that I want to show you. I want to preface something. She's going to say something

at the beginning of this, where she says the left. I know it's political. You're going

to be okay. Because I think what she says and she's quoting Trevor Noah, what she says

is I feel like a really good profound statement. And I think it could broad swath around everyone.

But also, I do believe that this affects exactly what Trevor Noah is talking about. So we're

going to play this clip. It's like a minute long. So watch this real quick.

[Dr. Ulcca Joshi Hansen] Yeah, so Trevor Noah said something recently that I've just been sitting with, I haven't

been able to stop thinking about it.

He said the left lost its imagination when it lost its connection to faith.

And I don't think you have to be religious for that to land, because I think what he

was pointing at is something that I've been watching happen across institutions and communities

and movements, and it's that we've lost the practice ability to believe that things can

be genuinely, structurally, actually different, like not just a little better, but transformed.

And the traditions that sustained people throughout the worst of history, I think they understood

something that we've largely forgotten, and that's that hope isn't a feeling.

It's a discipline, it's a muscle, and you build it the way you build any other capacity

through practice, through practice with community, through repeatedly engaging in this act of

naming a possible future and moving towards it, even if the evidence isn't on your side

yet and the reality is the evidence can't be there because it doesn't yet exist.

So Martin Luther King, for example, he didn't have proof that the beloved community was

coming, right?

What he did have is a trained imagination and people who were willing to act as if the

beloved community were real, and that combination changed the world.

So I don't think we need more information right now.

I think we need to rebuild our capacity to believe in what we can't yet see.

Whether that's in ourselves, in each other, that's a skill.

And like any skill, it can be learned.

You're not out of hope. You're out of practice.

She talks about how hope is a, isn't a feeling that shows up once the evidence finally lines

up, right? It's a muscle. You build it by using it. And did you catch what she said about

Martin Luther King? He didn't have proof that the beloved community was coming. What he

had was a trained imagination and people willing to act as if it were already real. It's a

practice. And that's what the series is about, this unforced rhythms of grace. And I, I want

to put one sentence next to this and we're going to spend the next like half hour on it.

You cannot train imagination on a numbed heart. And most of us were handed a faith that taught

us to numb. But Martin stood up here last month and he named that gap exactly. In his

story, he grew up in church. He learned how to do it right. He said it himself. I learned

how to perform. And then he said the thing I want everyone of us to hear. Nobody ever

told him what to do with grief, with suffering, with a world falling apart. There was no class

for that. So when his world actually did fall apart, the good Christian kid had a full toolkit

for performing. And nothing at all for grieving. Surviving isn't living is what he said. And

watch what he said happen next. Because it's a whole series in one life story. He didn't

fix it by finding a better argument. He said, I didn't lose God. I lost a version of God.

The version that only worked while everything was fine. And when he finally stopped performing

long enough to actually grieve the thing he found underneath it wasn't absence. His words

were, love had been holding me all along. That's not a mark problem. That was a curriculum

problem that he was handed and put into. And for a lot of you, like me, the grief you were

never allowed to feel is a very specific grief. It's a grief of losing a church, a community,

a version of God that used to hold you and then didn't. Some of you walked away from

a whole world, friends, family rhythms, a Sunday that used to feel like home. And nobody threw

you a funeral. Instead, you got one of two sentences. The people you left told you you

had backslidden. You walked away from God. You were in the world. As if you hadn't lost

anything, you'd just gotten lazy. And the people who'd already left told you to be glad. You're

free now. Congratulations. One side shamed the loss. The other side celebrated it. And

neither one let you grieve it. So you did the thing that you were trained to do. What

I was trained to do. You just got past it. And there's a name for what most of us were

taught instead. A psychologist named John Wellwood coined it back in the 80s. It's called spiritual

bypassing. Using spiritual language, spiritual practice, even to step around pain instead

of through it. It sounds holy. It sounds mature. I'm just trusting God. I'm choosing joy today.

I got this. God's ways are better than mine. And sometimes those are true sentences. But

a lot of times, in a lot of churches, they're just a trap door. A way to get out of the room

before the grief finishes its sentence. And you've heard me talk about this all year.

You don't -- what you feel, what you experience, the feeling you be into experience, it doesn't

just leave when you go out the trap door. It stores. Marlene went out -- she calls it

the church version of this religious trauma. And a lot of this room carries it. We carry

it in our shoulders. It's that weight. Bypassed grief doesn't resolve itself. It just waits.

The church taught us to resolve grief in one sentence. The body's memory runs much deeper

than that. So your body still feels it. And here's what's strange. The book that we built

this curriculum on to bypass, to move on. It never did this. In fact, roughly a third

of the Psalms, the prayer book of Israel, the songs that Jesus grew up singing Himself,

a third of them are lament. Complaint, protest. How long, O Lord, why have you forsaken me?

The Bible gave grief a third of the Psalms, a third of the hymnal that it handed to Israel,

and church gave it the one sentence to just bypass. And there's one Psalm I've never preached,

but I think it might be one of the most honest prayers in the whole book of Psalms. Because

of how it ends. Psalm 88, it's a man in a pit. And listen to how long he's been at this.

He says, "But I cry to you for help, Lord. In the morning, my prayer comes before you.

Why, Lord, do you reject me and hide your face from me?" Morning after morning, he says,

"He's not faithless here. He's praying. Every morning I come to you. He's doing the thing.

And nothing is happening. No answer, no relief." The Psalm says his friends have pulled back

to you. They've kind of just left him because he wants to hang around that guy. And here's

the thing about lament Psalms. If you go through the book of Psalms, almost all of them turn.

Like you see the Psalmist right through you like, "Why did you do this? What's happening?"

And then they turn. Somewhere near the end, there's a butt. But I will trust in you. But

you, O Lord, I used to teach and I still think this is important, but in Scripture, I always

look for the butt. There's something after. But in Psalm 81, there's no butt. The last verse

of Psalm, not 81, Psalm 88, the last verse of Psalm 88, "You have taken from me friend

and neighbor, darkness is my closest friend." In the scene. And I know you're thinking,

"Yeah, the Bible doesn't..." Like when they wrote it, they don't cut the chapters. Just

go on to 89. 89 is a whole different thing. This Psalm ends. Darkness is my closest friend.

It's like a country Psalm. That's the end. There's no turn. No resolution. Lights out

in scene. And somebody, an editor or community, the spirit, however you want to look at it,

looked at that prayer and said, "That goes in the book." Psalm 88 ends in the dark and

it's in the book. Which means there's a place in Scripture for the day you don't have a

butt. There's a page for the sentence that doesn't get better. Look at Job, right? Job's

friends knew this. For exactly seven days, they understood this in the story of Job.

They came, they saw him, they did the best pastoral care in the Old Testament. Job 2,

Job 2:13

verse 13 says this, "Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights.

No one said a word to him because they saw how great his suffering was. Seven days of

silence, just presence. It was perfect. And then they opened their mouths. And they spent

the next 30-some chapters bypassing his grief and suffering, explaining, defending God,

finding the reason. And at the end of the book, God tells them they did not speak rightly.

The silence was right. The sentences where their sin came in. And if you look at the

story of Job, you'll get to notice who God does vindicate at the end of the book. Not

the friends with the explanations. It's a Job. The one who spent the whole book refusing

to stop asking. There's an author David Gushy who some of you have heard of. He's written

quite a few books in the kind of post evangelical space. But he wrote a new book on Job and

it comes out next month. And in a piece previewing it in his sub-stack I was reading, he says

this about Job. It says Job offers a model for people whose inherited certainties have

collapsed, but who refuse to surrender either truthfulness or faith. He calls it Job's

courage to keep asking the questions, to refuse to bite his tongue in order to remain in good

standing. He says it's not a lack of faith that Job has. According to the end of the

book, that is the faith, the hard questions, the what is happening, why? The man who wouldn't

bypass was the one God said spoke correctly. And here's what grief did to him. Read through

this book and we may go through it, which is going to be a hard one for me, but I'm in it.

But here's what grief did to him because, and this is the part that I didn't expect from the

story. Gushy points out that somewhere in the middle of the book, Job stops talking about his

own suffering and he starts describing other peoples. And Job 24, he talks about the homeless

driven off the roads, the hungry harvesting food that they can't eat, the widow's animal's

taken as collateral. Gushy, his line in this, he says, Job went from the penthouse to the

dung hill outside of town. And from the dung hill, it said that he was sitting on the dung hill,

he was viewing life from below rather than from above. Things look different from the city dump

than from the city gate. And Gushy says, Job lifting his gaze from his own pain to everyone

else's is a sign not just of his integrity, but perhaps also of his growth. Because this is what

lament does when you let it finish. It doesn't curl you inward, it widens you. Right? Like the

grief you were never allowed to feel is also the grief that would have let you see people.

Hold that. It's, it's where we're going to go next week. Last summer, after devastating floods

in curvil, I stood up here and I said, Jesus doesn't skip grief. Standing outside of Lazarus's

tomb, knowing, knowing he was about to call the man out of his death. He wept anyway. He didn't

bypass the ending he already knew. He stood in the grief for the people he loved and he let it

be what it was. And what happened to Job on the dung hill? Like pain shrinking him until he could

finally see past himself. It's not just a Bible story. This is where my worlds collide and where I

love this intersection of faith and theology and psychology. Like this idea that him going through

this pain shrinks him until he can finally see past himself is the exact thing that all research

measures. When I talk about this, this emotion of awe, this is it. I've talked about Dacher Keltner a

lot. He's the, the psych researcher that this whole year of awe has kind of leaned on for his

research and he's the person whose book awe I read and it like sent me back to school to learn and

study psychology. In the book, Keltner talks about the fact that his brother, his best friend in

life got sick and he dies of cancer. And in that the middle of his grief of losing his best friend

of watching his, his brother dwindle his humanity dwindle from him. He says that he started noticing

something else moving in him. Small moments of this thing he called awe. Not instead of the grief,

but inside it. And then when his team said, we're going to go do research and find where people

experience the emotion of awe. They went to 26 countries and they asked these questions of people

and they said, we're the most common things that you experience where you experience this emotion of

awe. And across cultures, 26 countries, it wasn't just this idea of seeing the beautiful stars in the

sky. One of the eight things, the wonders of life that Keltner says, bring awe to us was death,

losing someone, facing their own mortality. In his book, he lists those eight wonders of life.

The things that most reliably produce awe in a human being and life and death is on the list.

Right there next to the night sky and humans being kind to each other.

And what that same study found awe does to a person, I believe that's what it did to Joe.

It shrinks the self, not in a shaming way, but in a proportion way, like you feel small in front

of something enormous. And the moment you do, you're gaze widens. People who just felt awe

in all of their studies, they found were more generous, more connected, more aware of the people

around them. The technical term is small self. The plain version is that awe reminds you you're

part of something much bigger than your own pain. That's Job's lifting his eyes from the

dung hill to the people on the road. A year ago, I put it this way, grief breaks our hearts,

but it also opens them to awe.

Now, guardrail here, and I mean it like, I'm not saying your pain has a purpose.

That's not what I'm trying to put across here. I'm not saying God sent it to teach you something.

I don't believe that that's how God operates. That's bypassing again. That's like, it's okay,

just stay in it because there's purpose here. What I'm saying is narrower than that. I think

it's probably a truer idea. That the door grief opens in a person, and the door that

awe opens are the same door. Both kind of crack you open as a human.

Both make you small in front of something enormous.

Both require you to stop managing everything for a second,

which means the faith that taught you to slam the door on grief. It also shut the door on awe,

too, because it's the same one. In fact, Brene Brown says it like this,

we cannot selectively numb emotion. If we numb the dark, we numb the light.

If we take the edge off pain and discomfort, we are, by default, taking the edge off joy,

love, belonging, and the other emotions that give meaning to our lives.

I think she said it better. You can't selectively numb your emotions.

When you numb painful emotions, you numb the good ones right along with them.

And this isn't just a nice line from Brene. The lab backs her up.

The research on this is there. A Stanford researcher named James Gross has spent decades

studying what happens when people suppress what they feel, and the finding is almost cruel.

Suppression doesn't actually reduce the pain. People who stuff it report feeling just as bad,

sometimes worse. What it reliably reduces is joy. The numbing doesn't work on the thing.

It's aimed at the pain that they're trying to numb. It doesn't actually

numb that. You can't selectively numb what it does is it reduces joy.

Past couple of weeks, I've been listening to a book by Rob Bell. It's called "How to Be Here."

I'm going to quote something from it, but I need to walk you through kind of how he gets there first,

because the path he uses is the point and that the statement could come across as bypassing.

He doesn't start with suffering in the story. He starts with a blinking cursor.

Think about opening a word document in the cursor's blinking on a blank page.

The first thing a blank page says to every human who has ever faced one is,

"Who are you to do this?" That's where he begins. The terror and the gift of being

handed a page at all. He takes the page and he says, "This is what life is. You are handed a page."

And then he asks, "What gets you out of bed in the morning?"

He borrows the Japanese word. Have you guys heard this? The Ikigai?

Ikigai is the reason for being here in the Japanese culture. You find this thing. This is

your guiding force. And then he takes the Ikigai and he gets real practical. He says,

"You don't need to see like 17 steps," because that's 16 steps too far.

Do the one that's right in front of you. Start with number one.

And it's only after all of that, after he's convinced you that the page is actually yours

to write, that he then turns to loss. And here's the sentence he says.

Suffering in loss, have this extraordinary capacity to alert and awaken us to the gift that life is.

Notice the order he built this in though. He's not saying suffering is a gift.

He's saying suffering wakes you up to a gift you already had and you had stopped noticing.

Which is last week we talked about Jacob where he says, "God was in this place and I was not aware of

it." It's that waking up. It's loss, Bella is saying here that loss is a brutal alarm clock.

But it's an alarm clock, not a verdict. It's a wake-up call. And then he takes to the last step.

He says, "You've been given the gift of life." Pause, breathe.

If you're here breathing in this room,

you already received the gift.

Whatever else is or isn't true about your life, the one thing that settled is you're here breathing.

And the way he lands the whole book, give it away, but it's a good book. You should read it.

All of us are taking part in this ongoing creation of the world.

You're not a spectator to your own life. You've got a page.

This is the through line that he talks about. It's a blank page. It's your page. Do the one thing,

maybe loss wakes you up to the gift that you already have life and that you get a chance to

write a page. And then the reminder that you're a partner in what's still being made and created in

this world. And Bella knows this road from the inside. Like if you don't know who Rob Bella is,

he's a pastor. He wrote a book called Love Wins. In Love Wins and one of the chapters in this book,

he just opined that maybe hell doesn't really make sense in a burning pit of throat. I don't

know what to do with that, he said, as a pastor. And the minute he did that, he lost his church.

He lost respect. He was kicked out and he was told, "You've got to go."

So he understands what loss looks like from an entire life

structure for him. Everything he knew was gone.

So this blank page wasn't a metaphor for him. In fact, he's the one that in his podcast I listen to

almost every year where he talks about the story that I've told here about leaving the system and

going up river. It's this idea of sometimes you're called to something that nobody else is going to

understand. But they're not supposed to because it's yours. It's your page to write, not theirs.

Now, watch all these pieces connect because there was one more clip that I was actually sent this

week on Instagram from a friend. It's a pastor, his name's Joe Smith, and he was teaching on wonder.

And he said something in it that my friend was like, "Hey, you got to hear this. I think this

is going to resonate with you." And Joe Smith said this, "Empire wants more than our bodies.

Empire wants to colonize our imagination." The idea that, look, hold it. Look at this. Put this

idea. Empire wants your imagination. Take that and go back to Dr. Hansen in the very beginning where

she said, "Hope is trained imagination." Now, my question is, how does empire take that imagination?

Go to the next one real quick, Nate. So, hope is trained imagination. Dr. Hansen says,

"Empire wants your imagination." Joe Smith says, "How does empire take it? Go to the next one?"

With numbness. Like, think about our lives right now. Are you supposed to have feelings?

The algorithm is trying to keep you out of feeling things. Like, go to the next thing. Go to the

next thing. You can't. You can't worry. In fact, the whole idea of enemy creation, which we've

talked about before, for me to say that someone is an enemy to you, I have to take away their

humanity. And in order to, when I take away their humanity, what does that do? Well, that numbs

feelings for another human being because now they're just a label. So, I've numbed your feeling

towards that human. And I've brought you back inside. What have I brought you back inside to?

Well, I've used fear to say that, "Hey, this group of people is going to take your jobs."

And you, "Well, I don't want that to happen. I need to protect myself."

And no longer is it a human being, it is a group.

And I can numb you to humanity, and then I can take away your imagination. Because if I can

keep people either comfortable, distracted, or fearful, I can keep them managed, keep them from

feeling the thing. And they'll gradually lose the ability to picture anything different. Like,

think about what Dr. Hansen said. Martin Luther King Jr. hadn't seen the beloved community yet,

but he could imagine it. But if I take away your ability to imagine the beloved community,

then you won't even start step one.

You gradually lose the ability to picture anything different.

Numbed people are very governable people. Walter Brookman said this 50 years ago, his little book,

it's called The Prophetic Imagination. He noticed that the prophets of Israel, like Jeremiah,

they were weepers, they were cryers. He did something strange every time that they would come to

prophesy. They did something strange as their first act. If you go into the Old Testament,

before they announced anything new, they grieved out loud in public. Because Pharaoh's whole system,

the empire that controlled them, the whole system runs on nobody feeling anything.

And public grief is the crack in it. Brookman's claim, and I'm paraphrasing this,

is that only grief permits newness. You cannot get to a new thing without grieving the old one

all the way through. And here's a part people miss, I think about Brookman. The grief isn't

where the prophet stops. It's where the new song becomes possible. The same tradition that gave

us Jeremiah weeping gave us Isaiah's comfort, comfort my people. But the comfort only lands on

people who were allowed to weep first, who knew they needed the comfort. Skip the weeping,

and the comfort is just another bypassing sentence. Do the weeping and comfort because

becomes something a body can actually receive. So lament, this idea of like the song, the songs

having a third of them being lament, we've lost that. There was a study a while back that studied

all the top songs in the church that we all sing. And I am guilty of this as, I'm like Paul,

I am the center of centers, right? I am guilty. I don't want to sing these songs.

But they went through and they did this whole study that like 5% of the top 100 songs that the

churches sing in the U.S. lament, 95 of them are about victory and triumph. We've lost the ability

to lament. We didn't lose it. We've been trained not to have it. But when we see that lament isn't

weakness, it isn't wallowing. We can see that lament is actually resistance. It's the practice

that keeps your imagination from being uncolonized. The person who can still weep is the person who

can still picture a different world. I say this all the time when I'm talking about the idea of

awe that fear narrows us and awe widens us. You know this line, I've said it. Here's the kind of

addendum to that numbness narrows us to. And the only road back to wide runs through the lament,

which takes me to the first page of the Bible. And then we're done. In Genesis 1,

before there is anything, there is darkness over the deep. And look at the first thing God does

with the dark. He doesn't flee it. He doesn't explain it. He doesn't say at least there's says

this. Now the earth was formless and empty. Darkness was over the surface of the deep and the spirit

of God was hovering over the waters and God said, let there be light. He speaks into the darkness.

Speaking into the darkness is the first creative act in the universe.

But that's what lament is speaking the true thing into the dark out loud so that nothing new can

nothing new can start to be made until you're in the darkness and you sit in it for a minute.

It's not passive. It's the opposite. It's not the opposite of faith. It is literally how creation

has always started. And if Rob Bell is right that we're partners in this ongoing creation of

the world, then your lament is you picking up the family trade and saying, I'm going to create

in this. But in order to create in this, I have to feel the first thing God did with darkness was

speak into it. So here's the practice that we're going to do this week. Again, these are small

versions, small practices. I told you last week, go on an awak. I didn't ask anybody if they did it.

There's no leaderboard. If you did it, amazing. If you didn't, cool. Try it this week. Like,

there's no, nobody's winning anything here. These are just, these are practices to begin to learn.

The awak was, hey, go out and walk like you've never seen any of this before. This is all new to you.

For this one, it's going to be a little different. I want you to write the prayer that you were

never allowed to pray. The one that got edited out of you, the angry one, the where were you prayer?

The one with no but at the end, like Psalm 88 with your name on it, write it down, paper,

notes app, the back of whatever. Here's the rule. Nobody has to read it. Now me, you don't have to

post this on Instagram. Like God's not going to read it. He'll see it. But you know, you don't have

to be like, here God, read this. Not your group. Like nobody has to read this. This is your prayer.

It's private by design because the whole point is a sentence you've never been allowed to say.

And the only way to practice saying it is to say it. If nothing happens when you write it,

you know the rule by now like nothing happened and that's perfectly fine. You told the truth in the

dark and that's how everything starts. You're not out of hope. You're just out of practice.

And you've got a page and there's a blinking cursor and it's your page and only you can write it.

You're made to be a conduit and a representation of the love of God. Every single person in here

is uniquely made to do that in your own unique way. I can't love people the way Māori can.

And she can't love people the way I can. But that's the beauty of our differences.

But in order to be that conduit and a representation of the love of God, we're made to practice that

love. But some weeks love sounds like grief. And I want to invite you into that and give you

permission to do that just as I've had to give myself permission to do it and still do it.

This is one of the things that I will probably be learning for the rest of my life.

But it invites us into creation. And I think for us to be able to love and create and

help us create that the world that we all want.

We can't be numb any longer. So Arsenal, do that. Step into it. Write your prayer and then go

love well. It's who you're made to be. Love you guys. We'll see you next week.

That's it. That's it. That's it. Love you guys.

[APPLAUSE]