Be brave.
It’s also rather talkative if you know what you are listening for. It whispers that you are so much safer here, in this little sterile bubble. You don’t need to have that hard conversation, set boundaries and hold people accountable to them, love people when it’s hard and you want to quit, keep showing up when it’s not easy to be there, or have the courage to finally walk away when there isn’t any more you can give to a thing. It whispers that you aren’t enough to be brave. Or bold. Or courageous. Because even if you manage to make it look like you are, it’s only a matter of time until someone comes in and exposes you as a fraud.
Bravery is the people who are scared and anxious and refuse to stay home in their little safe boxes, even though the whispering voice of anxiety says they should.
Bravery and vulnerability are the kind of best friends that you rarely, if ever, see separated.
When you are brave, you are almost always also in positions to be vulnerable. And when we divorce them, we cheapen bravery somehow.
This stance has forced me to re-evaluate what definition I give to vulnerability. I used to think it was getting up on a stage or platform and telling the horrors of the mistakes of my past to a collection of friends, family and relative strangers. By airing every piece of dirty laundry that I’ve ever had, even when it felt like rubbing salt in road-rash – I was being vulnerable. And I hated it.
That is a brand of vulnerability, most definitely. And sometimes, I’d even say that the Lord asks that of us. But 99% of the time, the way I now define vulnerability is radically different.
It looks like asking for what I need (which is different from the things I want) from the people I love.
It looks like showing up to places and relationships and letting myself be seen, even when I feel woefully inadequate, undesirable and useless.
It looks like valuing people and relationships more than my desire to appear together.
It looks like inviting people who have earned it into the parts of me I’m not proud of – both to hold it with me and to keep me accountable.
It looks like asking for help when I know I’m spiraling, reaching out for wise counsel and therapy when I see myself honestly and recognize what I have defined as normal is not always healthy.
It’s so much smaller to the outside observer, but it’s an every day practice. It’s also really difficult, scary and easy to do poorly.
Do you see why bravery and vulnerability are best friends? That kind of vulnerability requires so much bravery. So much. It also requires so much grace. Because when we do things that are bigger than us, or involve interacting with other people, or taking chances on things that are uncertain, we are bound to fail. I could say we may only fail a few times until we get it all figured out, or until we really embrace Christianity…but that would be a lie. That’s a tenant of the fake it until you make it ideology.
The reality is that this life is riddled with failure and missteps and missing the mark. Granted, the kind of sin and failure we experience may look different with Jesus than without Him…but we still fall and fail. Often. And so we rest in grace. Even though it’s uncomfortable, and makes us feel useless to God, we are called to rest in it. And then to admit that we feel lacking and are scared, and to be willing to stare that fear in the face and show up anyway. And then, just as we think we may have found the balancing point, we trip and need forgiveness and grace. And it begins again. We need to be brave, be vulnerable and be utterly dependent on grace. And then do it all over again, and again, and again.