All of life is vulnerable. All of love is vulnerable. All of faith is vulnerable.
Yet most of us scamper from vulnerability at the mere thought of letting our guard down.
Much of my life has been spent sprinting from vulnerability. Sometimes I wonder why. Perhaps the cause can be attributed to the cruel words spoken on the elementary school playground, the scarring remarks heard during those gawky years of junior high, or that first time I confessed my love for a boy and he responded, “That’s nice.”
Perhaps something deeper is at work.
A mysterious, thick wall appeared in my life. Brick by brick. Slab by slab. With each passing year, the taller it became. Moss flourished. Weathered hues set in.
From the inside, the taller the wall grew, the less light seeped in.
Dismantling what’s become a fortress proves a slow process—one with great risk and rewards. With each stoned dislodged, nine more square inches of light break through.
The warmth on my cheeks is life-giving, refreshing, and stirs a desire for more.
Let’s be honest: dismantling our protective constructs, the illusions we hold about ourselves is one of the most painful processes we’ll ever endure. This slow, painful work often takes decades, if not a lifetime.
With each stone removed, we reveal our authentic selves. This makes us vulnerable to judgment, shaming, misunderstanding, rejection, and narrow labels.
Judgment shoves us toward self-loathing.
Shaming beckons us to hide.
Misunderstanding confuses our true identities.
Rejection makes us feel lonely and less than.
Labels reduce our humanity.
When we become vulnerable, we expose our weaknesses. We rend ourselves bare.
When our guard drops, we become aware of the areas we least like about ourselves. The areas we most want to keep hidden. The words we would rather never speak aloud.
Yet it’s through vulnerability that we invite people to extend the salve of the soul. The balm of love that brings healing.
Vulnerability forces us to discover we are worth loving.
Perhaps that’s why vulnerability demands so much courage.
Yet the act of vulnerability nudges us toward self-acceptance, which propels us toward loving others with more depth and freedom.
The call to love our neighbor as ourselves suggests that the length to which we can extend love is intertwined with our ability to receive love.
Vulnerability requires practice.
Like graduate school, the school of vulnerability involves heavy coursework, the tutors sometimes unforgiving. Knowing when to let your guard down requires practice. Knowing how to create a safe space for others requires even more practice.
Love is at the heart of vulnerability that leads to healing. And love isn’t something we can grow in our own. We need others who will be courageous and make the journey with us.
Vulnerability is scary.
Yet it’s a powerful and authentic way to live.
Through vulnerability, we stop hiding from ourselves.
I used to believe that the hardest aspect of vulnerability was having others see me. But it’s really in seeing myself. Vulnerability provides a portal through which we can come to terms with who we are—quirks, imperfections, and all—as beloved children of God.
My difficult diagnosis has been the most painful experience of my life. Sharing it requires some vulnerability. Okay, a lot of vulnerability. But I feel like I’m finally ready to share what God has stirred in my heart along the way because although cancer has been the most painful journey—it has also been the most joyful. And no one is more surprised than I am.
Along the way, I discovered facets of joy that no one ever taught me—more than whimsy, joy is a weapon we can use to fight life’s battles.
Fight Back With Joy is the most vulnerable book and Bible study I’ve ever written. And I want to share it with you.
What have you been learning about how to live out vulnerability well?
(RSS Subscribers, click here to view.)
[metaslider id=30121]
