At night, after the kids are all tucked in cozy, me lounging in my favorite brown chair with matching, worn footstool or propped up against the headboard in our bed with a passel of pillows, journal and pen in hand, the words just come. Fast. Authentic. Without any internal judgment or censure. Without any thought at all, really.

Situations during the day that made me smile, or that I wished I’d handled differently. Questioning why this sin keeps rearing its ugly head in my life. Pondering how to proceed with a strained relationship. Jotting down a dear quote I’d come across or an expression of thanksgiving. Reflections on the Word. Pleadings for Him to intercede, for myself and for the world.

But sitting down at the computer to type, words, not just for my own eyes and heart, but words for others to read…they come, but with excruciating slowness.

Why?

Because of the fear.

Vulnerability, from the Latin word for ‘wound,’ is defined as ‘the state of being open to injury, of being easily hurt or attacked.’ And who knowingly chooses to put himself, herself in that place, that place where wounding, pain, and assault are likely to occur?

It’s terrifying, really. Opening self up wide with words, in stories – in written or in spoken word. And we all experience this to some degree, don’t we? This fear of ‘if only they really knew…’

Because it means you can’t hide anymore, you can’t run or pretend or live like life here is always a bed of roses.

It means you might hurt or offend someone.

It means reliving events and experiences and heartaches from which you still bear scars.

It means people might think you’re an idiot or immature or immoral or a self-righteous, hypocritical prig.

You might lose a few friends along the way, shed a few tears.

So to share openly, to pour self out for all to see, it’s scary.

And it can also feel prideful and arrogant, I think, like ‘Who am I?’ ‘Who am I to think I have anything worthwhile to offer anyone?’ Like, ‘Why would anyone want to hear my stories?’ or ‘Why inconvenience others with my burdens when they have plenty of their own, I know?’ And ‘why keep coming back to stories of self anyway when the aim is ever, only Him?’

But what is all of life, all of creation, but one, gigantic, continuous, never-ending story, right? It began with ‘In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth’ and it ‘ends’ with eternal ‘shalom’, the restoring of everything and everyone to Wholeness and Perfection and Peace. But we all live somewhere in the middle of the story, yes? Right there in between perfection in the first Garden and perfection in the last?

For we have a part here then, a role to play, except that it’s not just a role – not like acting on a stage where you have lines to learn, where everything that happens is predictable, rehearsed, known beforehand. Not a role where you pretend to be something or someone you are not. But one where you are simply and wholly yourself – in the body, with the personality, in the place, with the people, in the time He ordained.

And so, is there anything to be gained by us sharing our stories right here in the middle of it all? Yes, a resounding YES, I believe!

Because in sharing our own stories, particularly our own stories of brokenness and shame, hurt, pain, and death, we put ourselves in a place where we can be fully known, fully embraced by others, where we can know we are not alone in any of this, where others can come alongside, offering compassion, comfort, unconditional love and acceptance. It’s how true community is built, I think, this willingness to be vulnerable with our stories. And to draw others’ stories out, truly caring to hear from the folks around us.

And might our vulnerability end in heartache and further brokenness? Yes, of course. For our King Himself chose to be made utterly vulnerable, which brought betrayal and scorn, beatings and death – for a time. But ultimately, His vulnerability resulted in Life – Life for Himself and Life for the world. Vulnerability always ends in Life – some day, some way.

And so, each and every story of ours is part of His story, filling in the gaps between Life at the very beginning and Life on that final Great Day yet to come.  And too, for those of us who know Him –  our stories, our lives are always the opportunity to see Him and know Him more fully, to bear witness to His continued faithfulness and mercy, to point folks to Christ as the only Bread that will satisfy, the only Water that will quench.

So, we share, freely. Fearfully at times, maybe. Imperfectly, stumbling over words, with heated cheeks and downcast eyes, wondering if any of these words are getting through, are accomplishing anything at all. But trusting too, that we are called to pour out what He has poured in – our stories, our lives – by His grace, overflowing and spilling onto humanity for His good and glory.

May it be so.

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