vulnerability – thelifeididntchoose

Lent 2023: Making Space for Vulnerability

I picked this book up on a whim sometime last year not knowing how wonderful and insightful and helpful it would be as I hurtle toward the eight year mark of Dom’s leaving for Heaven.

Yet every single day when I turn the page to the next discussion and reflection there is a fresh awakening in my spirit to something I need to explore.

I understand how a heart wants to wall itself off after prayers go unanswered (please don’t regale me with, “But they are all eventually answered”); plans fall apart; others’ sinful actions pound a soul to dust; and lives sacrificially poured out on the table of service are abruptly and unceremoniously cut short.

Why hope if hope is never realized (on this mortal plane)?

Read the rest here: Lenten Reflections: Making Space For Vulnerability

Sharing Transparently-How Much is Too Much?

For the most part, I’m pretty transparent. Because secrets don’t serve anyone well.

If I pretend to be stronger than I really am, I hide the truth that it is Christ in me that gives me strength.

If I don’t admit that certain words or actions hurt my heart, I enable thoughtless behavior.

If I only parrot “Sunday School” answers when someone asks about my faith in relation to my loss, then I silence other hearts wrestling with questions and pain in light of God’s sovereignty and love.

If I hide my tears, my pain, the missing then I minimize this great loss, And I will not make losing Dominic small.

Read the rest here: How Transparent Should I Be When Sharing?

Why Lament Is Worship

We usually think of worship as songs of joy and happiness extolling the virtues of God and Christ.

While that is most certainly a form of worship, it is absolutely not the only one.

Biblical lament is an honest, vulnerable expression of pain, a crying out to God in faith as we are suffering.
― Cindee Snider Re

Worship is also the broken whimper of a scared and wounded child, crawling into the lap of her Abba Father.

There is no less adoration in this ultimate act of confident trust than in the most eloquent declaration of theological truth in word or song.

Lament is worship.

Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2019/02/03/refuse-to-hide-lament-as-worship/

I’m Just Tired Y’all

I realize yesterday’s post was somewhat out of character.

I was angry and hurt and utterly dumbfounded that another parent might take my words exactly as I wrote them (emphasis and all) and simply lift them out of context and plaster them across the Internet.

My heart is especially vulnerable right now.

My mother just died. It’s only been three weeks. And her death has reopened wounds I’d grown skilled at ignoring.

While I’ve been encouraged by many of you who understand the way I feel, I’ve also been hurt by many who seem to think that if I protect my intellectual property I’m petty and unkind.

So I’m just gonna put this out there-I’m tired, y’all. Worn out.

I’m more exhausted than I’ve been since the first year after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.

The past two years have drained every ounce of reserve I had (and that wasn’t much).

This week has finished me off.

I’m not going to fight to try to get anyone who can’t understand to see my point of view. My debating days are over.

I might just lay the blog aside for awhile. I don’t really know right now.

So, “thank you” to everyone who has come along for the ride. Thank you to every heart that has reached across the miles or across cultures to comment and join in on the conversation. You have encouraged me more than you will ever know.

But I’m tapped out.

❤

Transparent, Vulnerable, Scared

I wish I could write openly about the things that are going on right now in my life, but I can’t.

So you’ll just have to trust me when I say these past months-really this past year-has been the most challenging since the first 365 days after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.

I have cried more in the past three weeks than I have cried in the past three years.

I am forced to crawl into that secret space inside my heart and soul over and over if I hope to not vomit all these feelings on whoever happens to be nearby.

I look like I’m walking around in the world, but I’m really just walking around in a fog-putting one foot in front of the other and hoping I don’t trip and land flat on my face.

I want to be transparent, but I can’t be. Outcomes depend upon my ability to keep it together.

If I’m transparent, they will see that I’m falling apart.

So I plant a fake smile on my face, put on my good clothes, suck it up and suck it in and do what I have to do.

But I feel so very vulnerable.

Every day I feel like I’m in one of those dreams where you show up naked to class or to a job interview or to some other important function. And everyone just stares-dumbfounded-because they don’t know whether to laugh or cry at my predicament.

And I’m scared.

I know I write a lot about learning to set anxiety aside and not trying to figure out what the future holds. I really do take my own advice.

But some days, some weeks, some months I find I’m just as unable as the next trembling heart to do that.

So I’ve spent a lot of mornings crying before the sun rises too high in the sky. Letting all that vulnerability and fear leave my body through my eyes.

Then I dry it up and get dressed. Put on my mask and get going.

It is utterly exhausting.

I’m clinging to the fact that my track record for surviving hard days is 100%.

But it is still so very hard.

Speak Up, They Can’t Read Your Mind

I’ll admit it.

I tend to be an emotional stuffer.

It never seemed like it was worth the drama to expose my feelings to others. It rarely resulted in changed behavior and often resulted in confrontation, retribution or worse.

So I learned to swallow tears, stuff pain and slink off into another room and lick my wounds.

But that’s hardly healthy.

And it cannot be sustained when a heart shatters into a million pieces.

Because trying to hide THAT pain is impossible.

It slips out eventually-usually in a way that is awful and untimely and creates more hurt and more drama than if I had simply owned up to it in the first place.

It may be frustrating, not to mention exhausting, that you have to take the time to help others understand what you need. But this is part of living with grief. It’s part of the healing, coping process. Plus, if you don’t, you’re setting yourself up for more awkward, painful moments. Therefore, communicating with your comforters — be it through a spoken conversation, a letter, or an email — is wise. You won’t have a great deal of energy to reach out to others, but find a way that works for you. Let your comforters know:

* what helps
* what doesn’t help
* the truth about how you are feeling
* how thankful you are for their friendship.”

~Samuel J. Hodges and Kathy Leonard, Grieving With Hope

It IS frustrating AND exhausting.

But I am learning (slowly, very slowly!) that it is oh, so much better!

Instead of energy spent on being wounded and trying to hide it, I’m learning to speak up, own the wounds and suggest ways to prevent them in the future.

I’ll be honest, not everyone around me appreciates it. I am sometimes met with exactly what I hate: confrontation, opposition, accusations of selfishness and no more understanding than I had before I risked transparency.

But at least I’ve unburdened myself of what I could. I’ve given them tools to use (if they want to) in helping my heart heal.

There is so little I can control in this journey.

This is one place I can give it a shot.

Courage Requires Vulnerability

It’s a funny thing.

If you’ve never faced anything very frightening, it’s easy to think that those who do and march on through are somehow immune to fear.

But nothing could be further from the truth.

Courage is not the absence of fear but the mastery of it.

Yet you cannot master something you deny. You cannot resist that which you claim doesn’t exist.

Child loss is frightening.

So frightening that those not forced to walk this road usually choose to pretend (in practice if not in words) that it simply isn’t part of the world they live in.

It’s so frightening that most bereaved parents experience a period of time we would describe as “being numb” and “shock”.

It was probably six months until my heart truly understood the fact that Dominic was not coming back.

Ever.

It was frightening on so many levels-I had to face the fact I was not in control, had to face the fact my life was never going to be what I had envisioned it to be, face the fact that my surviving children would be shaped by grief in ways neither I nor they could anticipate, face the fact that I would live out my years carrying this heavy burden, and face the fact that no matter how hard I wished things were different, they were never going to be different-my child was dead.

And when the numbness began to wear off and fear creep into my heart, I had to choose: Was I going to embrace and experience this awful, devastating fear or was I going to try to deny it, distract myself from it or try to dismiss it as inconsequential?

Facing fear requires facing my own weakness.

Facing fear means becoming vulnerable-admitting that I am hurting, admitting that I cannot do this on my own, admitting that maybe, just maybe, I can’t climb this mountain without help.

Choosing vulnerability was its own challenge.

What if others mocked me? What if no one helped me? What if I just wasn’t up to the task?

I decided that NOT facing fear was not an option. As long as it lurked in the shadows I would be its prisoner.

So I turned and looked it square in the eyes. And I found, with God’s enabling help, I could master that fear.

Two verses became my touchstone:

When struck by fear,
    I let go, depending securely upon You alone.
In God—whose word I praise—
    in God I place my trust. I shall not let fear come in,
    for what can measly men do to me?

Psalm 56:3-4 VOICE

When I admitted my weakness, His strength was sufficient.

Choosing vulnerability and facing fear opens the door for God to show His power in and through me.

Child loss is still scary.

I’m still afraid.

But the Lord gives me strength to master the fear.

Heartache, Healing and Hope

I spent last weekend with eleven other bereaved mamas in a small Christian camp in Mississippi*

I’ll be honest-what sounded like a great idea a few months ago had begun to sound like an awful and intimidating idea about three days before I was supposed to go.

Even though I felt more prepared for this event than the Through This Valley Conference in October, I was still filled with trepidation at facilitating five sessions over three days with women I had only “met” online.

I wanted to go.

I wanted to take this next step toward sharing and serving and healing for my own heart. But I was still more than a little scared.

I am so, so glad I went!

Every single mama who came through the door brought one more measure of grace into that cabin. Every heart that cracked open and shared spread the sweet aroma of brokenness and compassion rose up to meet it.

Every tear was acknowledged, every sorrow counted, every story heard.

It was beautiful.

I was overwhelmed by the grace, mercy and love that flowed in, around and through the women there. It was a perfect picture of how God intends the Body of Christ to work!

We were all poured out in service to one another.

No need for a kitchen committee or clean up crew because it was natural to reach out and pitch in.

I am oh, so sorry for the reason that brought us together. But I am absolutely amazed at the blessing that ran like a river through that place.

It was a river of healing and life.

No one left “healed”. But we all left a little better equipped for this journey.

No one received “answers”. But we all left with a few more truths tucked into our belts.

Our hearts are knit together because we chose to show up and be vulnerable.

It is a gift I will carry with me wherever I go.

*If you are looking for a lovely place to hold a children’s camp for your ministry, please consider Abby Acres Christian Camp Facebook Page

How Transparent Should I Be When Sharing?

I am committed to authenticity but I am also committed to my own privacy and the privacy of my family.

So while I share freely here and in other places, I don’t share everything.

Sometimes I withhold because it’s not my story to tell. Sometimes it’s because I can’t tell it without harming or defaming others. And sometimes I don’t bare all because I just can’t weather other people’s reactions to what I have to say.

But for the most part, I’m pretty transparent. Because secrets don’t serve anyone well.

If I pretend to be stronger than I really am, I hide the truth that it is Christ in me that gives me strength.

If I don’t admit that certain words or actions hurt my heart, I enable thoughtless behavior.

If I hide my tears, my pain, the missing then I minimize this great loss, And I will not make losing Dominic small.

But if I am honest about my feelings,

honest about my weakness,

honest about what helps and what hurts,

then I can redeem part of this pain.

I can use it to make space for other hurting hearts.

Transparent is hard because it makes me vulnerable.

But transparent is good because it makes my pain useful.

I didn’t choose this life, but I won’t waste it.

Wounded Healers

I’ve come to believe that my wounds and the grace God has provided in my woundedness are not my personal possession.

God did not cause my pain, but He is redeeming it. He is molding me into a different person than I would have been if Dominic hadn’t run ahead to heaven. And that person has more compassion and grace and mercy and patience than the person I was before.

If I hide my wounds then I am hiding the hope He has hidden in my heart.

I won’t do that.

“Now that we know what we have—Jesus, this great High Priest with ready access to God—let’s not let it slip through our fingers. We don’t have a priest who is out of touch with our reality. He’s been through weakness and testing, experienced it all—all but the sin. So let’s walk right up to him and get what he is so ready to give. Take the mercy, accept the help.”

Hebrews 4:14-16 MSG

Nobody escapes being wounded. We all ar wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not ‘How can we hide our wounds?’ so we don’t have to be embarrassed, but ‘How can we put our woundedness in the service of others?’ When our wounds cease to be a source of shame, and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers.

Jesus is God’s wounded healer: through his wounds we are healed. Jesus’suffering and death brought joy and life. His humiliation brought glory; his rejection brought a community of love. As followers of Jesus we can also allow our wounds to bring healing to others. ~ Henri Nouwen

Thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, that he is our Father and the source of all mercy and comfort. For he gives us comfort in our trials so that we in turn may be able to give the same sort of strong sympathy to others in theirs. Indeed, experience shows that the more we share Christ’s suffering the more we are able to give of his encouragement. This means that if we experience trouble we can pass on to you comfort and spiritual help; for if we ourselves have been comforted we know how to encourage you to endure patiently the same sort of troubles that we have ourselves endured. We are quite confident that if you have to suffer troubles as we have done, then, like us, you will find the comfort and encouragement of God.

2 Corinthians 1:3-7 PHILLIPS

Sharing our wounds makes us vulnerable.

When we allow ourselves to become vulnerable, we invite others to do the same.

In this community of mutual vulnerability, healing is possible.

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