Forever Family

Aunt Mary Jane gives the best hugs.

You can ask anyone who knows her, family or not.  She gives you a big ol' squeeze that's long and heartfelt: one of those hugs where you immediately understand what it is to be truly loved, one of those you kind of wish you could pull out of your pocket anytime you need encouragement, one of those where you feel welcomed home, even if you're the one welcoming her into your house.

Good hugs are great, but great hugs can be life changing.  Every time I get the chance to see her, or any of the Ashley family, the reunion is full of hugs, kisses, and standing with our arms slung over each others' shoulders.  These are universal signs of acceptance, pride, protection, support, grace, and love.  Upon first observation, it might be assumed that we are just a touchy family: some people just are that way.  However, upon first-hand experience of the Ashley love, I'd bet money you'd change your mind about it being that simple.

***

We come from Quincy, FL, by way of Gadsden, AL and somewhere in Virginia.  Grandpa was one of 11 kids in Alabama, and Grandma was from a blended family--her step-sister we have always called Aunt Claire, and to all of us, she really is that.

Grandma and Grandpa raised 4 kids in Quincy, living in the same house for...ever...next to the Anderson's.  We shared meals with the Andersons often enough that I (and everyone who knew her) vividly remember Lulu's cookies and pound cake, and Mr. Anderson is kind of like a great uncle to me, even today, years after both Grandma and Grandpa are gone.

I'm the daughter of their youngest son, so my brother and I were always much younger than the rest of our 6 cousins.  However I can tell you that I always felt like an equal among my family, even though I was far smaller and younger than they.  We sat around the dinner table late into the night playing Cribbage: I on someone's lap, everyone else cracking jokes about terrible hands, amid shouts of "fifteen two, pair for four, ain't no more," and jovial threats of getting skunked.  As an adult, I've found a few friends who know this game, but none seem to have experienced the great joy we had playing as a family.  It's easy to turn Cribbage into a gambling, cutthroat game, but even Michelle, our star player, is the sweetest winner you'll ever meet; it's actually a joy to lose to her.

I could write pages on the memories I have of that house, this family, the experiences we had there: wallpapering the kitchen, playing in sun-catcher rainbows, building the backyard fence, playing tag, raking leaves to jump into them, eating muscadines out of the pool after throwing them at one another, collecting sweetgum balls for Grandma (and watching her actually put them into a vase and set them on the table), or hiding my stuffed animals for fear that Grandpa's threat of rabbit stew would come to fruition...but the undercurrent of all these is a fierce love for one another, a forever love for family born and family chosen.

Grandma and Grandpa weren't rich or powerful in the traditional senses, but you run into anyone in Quincy, even today, 18 years after he's gone, and they'll tell you how Grandpa always whistled when he delivered their mail, from where they knew him or Grandma, how he always helped the high school with homecoming floats, or what his nickname for them was.  Grandpa was famous for his nicknames...the good, the funny, and the loving.  

(Mine was Sweetpea, and to this day no one else calls me that.  If they did, there's a good chance I'd melt into a nostalgic puddle right in front of them.)  

I won't pretend that they were perfect: I've heard stories about the younger years.  But I can tell you that my and my cousins' memories of our grandparents were overwhelmingly beautiful.  I can tell you that if you ask anyone about them today, they are remembered as wonderful, giving, people.

They were both famous for their practical, kind, steady, servant-heart kind of love.

And I am so, SO grateful that this kind of love was not lost when we lost them.  It lives on in their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.  It lives on in our hearts and actions because they taught us how, and because we can honor them through serving and loving others.  It's an Ashley trait now, to welcome all and love people.  Yep, I have pride in my family.  But more than my feelings of pride are my feelings of gratefulness for being born into this, and humility to be called an Ashley next to these beautiful people who also share the name.  It's a blessing to be born into an family who's understanding of family is so broad it covers anyone we meet.  It's an honor, a privilege, and a gift to be part of a family who's collective mission is to love on one another and love on you with those fabulous hugs.  

***

But (my favorite word), it's not just because of the grandparents that we are this way.  It's because of what the grandparents, and we, believe.  Today, of all days, this resonates with me.  Today, we remember the Last Supper, but more importantly--for me, anyway--we acknowledge that Jesus was indeed a servant King.  He first gave us the example of what it means to humbly love others.  

He first.  We later, and poorly.  

It is astonishing to think that even my grandparents couldn't touch the servant love of Jesus, for even 18 years after the death of Grandpa, I still cry to think how much we loved him, and how much he loved...everyone.  What an honor that I have his likeness in my own father!  And what an honor that my own father has the likeness of Christ in him! 

Oh how wonderful to know that this gift is not reserved for the Ashleys, but for all who would see, and likewise humble themselves!

I am overcome.

***

"So, if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.  Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.  Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.  Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.  And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.  Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.  

Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.  

Do all things without grumbling or disputing, that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world, holding fast to the word of life, so that in the day of Christ I may be proud that I did not run in vain or labor in vain.  Even if I am to be poured out as a drink offering upon the sacrificial offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with you all.  Likewise you should also be glad and rejoice with me." - Philippians 2:1-18.

Love Letter(s) to the World

Beloved,

There are times I wish that I didn't love so much.  There are times I wish it were easier to separate myself from the joy, hurt, heartbreak, fear, hope.  Yes, there are many times I am grumpy, unapproachable, and rude.  There are times when I do not want to interact with other humans, regardless of how joyous they are.  But mostly, I just love ya.  All o' ya.  

When I look at you, I see daughters, sons, cousins, parents, friends, aunts, godparents, godchildren, dog-moms and cat-dads, widows, and siblings.  

I see creators, thinkers, adventurers, teachers, artists, writers, singers, builders, and discoverers.  

I see no two alike.  

I see beauty in the blue eyes, the brown eyes, the green eyes, the grey eyes, and intelligence there, too.  

I see eyes that have seen nothing, for they are new.  I see faces that have seen much, for they are old--some in years, and some in life experiences.  There is beauty in both the hope in newness, and the careful skepticism in experience.  

There is beauty here, and there is much pain.  

I see the lines in faces of fights between friends or lovers, between parents and children.  I see lines in faces from a long weary road of hardships: suffering, trials, failures, and perseverance.  

I see clouded eyes from long days in the sun, or long hours of working for sustenance.  I see clear eyes, bright with the hopes of academia and a future full of promise.  

I see hands calloused from years of manual labor, speckled by the sun.  I see knobby, arthritic hands, that still strive to complete blankets, scarves, and hats for those in need.  I see baby soft hands, searching, learning, exploring the world which is still new and beautiful.

Every line in every face is beautiful.  Every line, every eye, every hand tells a story.  A story of who you are, where you've been, what you've done, how you've seen, what you know, and for what you still search.

Yes, a line is a symbol of a struggle, a trial, a pain.  But it is also a remembrance that you've come through it.  Some tattoo these remembrances on their bodies: a symbol of a past period of their life through which they've come.  But some trials are undeniably written on your body with an ink no laser will remove.  And it is beautiful, even if it is also painful.

It has taken me time to understand that paradox: beauty from pain.  I do not think one necessitates the other.  There is beauty in something brand new, that has not yet experienced failure.  There is also beauty in the face of someone who has lived through a great trial: a world war, persecution, starvation, illness, or broken relationships.  

I look at you, and I see myself.  I see things we struggle with together.  I see the things I will never understand, or that you will never understand in me.  

But most of all, I see hope.  Or more precisely, I see you through hope.  This is different than "rose-colored glasses."  I am frightfully aware of how much imperfection is in this world.  I choose to hope in spite of it.  It is because of this lens that I know there is beauty here: in pain, in trial, in success, and in ordinary life.  It is because of this lens that I have perseverance for tomorrow, despite how dark it looks out my window.  It is because of hope that I know, in my deepest heart, that it will be okay.  You.  We.  We will be okay.  And we are beautiful.

Love,

   Annaliese

. . . 

Beloved,

I would be remiss if I were to leave the letter above standing alone.

My hope in you, in us, does not stem from some whimsy, some ephemeral desire of things being better in the future.  No.  My hope is rooted, rather unshakably, in a bigger picture.  One in which there is Right, there is Perfection, and there is Hope that we can find it all.  

Why do I understand this to be true?  If I can quickly lay out my understandings, I will try:

  1. I believe in a perfect God, who is the epitome of good, love, justice.  Who is eternal, and all powerful.

  2.  I believe that #1 has allowed His character to be accurately portrayed in the Bible.

  3.  I believe the new testament's statement that the only way to perfection is through belief that Jesus has the power to wipe the record clean of my shortcomings.  

From this standpoint, I see a hope for the future.  I see hope for erasure of the pain in this world.  I see hope for an eventual understanding of why we all have lines on our faces and callouses on our hands.  From this standpoint, I see the pain as a sharpening, a refining process for myself--and I hope it is such for you.  

Am I not a wiser person for having experienced the cocktail of trials and successes in my life?  Are you not a more beautiful person for having triumphed through that decade of fear and self loathing?  Without a gauge, for me I cannot compare who I was prior, to who I am now.  

For me--and I recognize it is not so for all--I require this measuring stick.  For what am I hoping?  Something I have accomplished?  Something I have seen you accomplish?  No.  I hope for it all.  My eyes are open, I see the hurt and the mistakes--yes.  I have made them, Lord, I have made them--I see the world for what it is.  

But because of this lens, because of a hope for things not yet seen, I see beauty in it all.  For in everything, there is hope of achieving that for which you strive. (1) 

Because of this hope, I will never give up on loving you.  On telling you you're beautiful.  Ever.

Love,

   Annaliese

(1) Much of this is spurred by Romans 8, but that is not the only place in the Bible that speaks of this stuff.

Disagreement *Should* Not Presume Disdain

I consider myself to be a pretty calm individual.  It takes a lot to get me angry to the point of getting into a fight with another individual.  In fact, I can probably count on my hands the number of knock-down-drag-out fights I've had in my life.  However, that doesn't mean I have no opinions, or that my opinions shift to match whoever's opinions are being spoken.  No.  I have opinions, stances, and a belief system of what [I understand] is right and wrong.  I try not to shout it from the rooftops, expecting everyone to arrest their own thoughts so that they might hear mine, but I do have them.  I disagree with folks, more often than my fight-record would indicate.

But my disagreement doesn't presume disdain toward the other party.  Just because we don't understand a topic in the same way, or have drawn different conclusions, doesn't necessitate that the other is stupid.  It shouldn't necessitate to the other person that I am stupid.  (This, of course, assumes that both opinions are backed by something other than "because I said so.")  It merely is an indication that our thought patterns, belief systems, or interpretations of a thing are different.  It does not require that we immediately hate one another, or hold each other at arm's-length after this realization.  In fact, in my mind, your relationship with that person becomes more valuable: differing opinions or understandings to your own can create an opportunity for all sorts of conversation!  Aristotle purportedly said, "It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it."  After a little digging, maybe he didn't say exactly that...but for my purposes, this serves.  The premise is still fine: discussion is possible without hatred or judgement, without a conclusion of one mind being altered forever.  Disagreement is possible without disdain.

How?  Why is it so polarizing to make your opinions known?  Make a comment on Facebook, only to be quickly defriended by someone who disagrees with you?  I've done it, I've also probably been defriended because if this, too.  There are a bunch of trite quotes I could include about what opinions are like, but you know them, and they are overused...so, consider them said.  However, some of my favorite conversations with people have arisen from fundamental disagreement on how a thing works.  What makes these conversations different than the inflammatory "conversations" that riddle social media today?

For starters, respect is present on both sides.  Long ago, I made a decision to (try to) respect everyone with whom I came in contact.  They are people like I am a person, their lives aren't any less important than mine.  I believe this includes everyone: those who are my superiors, those who are my peers, those who I disagree with, and those I don't understand.  By the same token, I would hope I conduct myself in a manner worthy of respect from others.

At any rate, respect is essential to having a discussion without a blow-up.  So is patience.  If you are too busy waiting to shoot someone down that you don't actually take the time to listen to the words coming out of their mouth...how do you expect them to give any more weight to your words than you do to theirs?  Makes sense to me.  Be patient, let them finish their sentence (or paragraph) before you jump in with a rebuttal.  Take a second to think about what they say after they say it, before thoughtfully responding.  To me, this comes easily.  I thank my parents for that: they raised me to always listen to what they were saying, or what my little brother was saying, before responding.  It's annoying when you're six, as everything you have to say is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING EVER, but that lesson stuck...a lesson for which I am exceedingly grateful, now.

And, the greatest of all: love.  If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or clanging cymbal.  

If I walk into a conversation hating the person...what will I gain?  Proud indignation when they do not to agree with me?  Alienation of a person with differing thought?  Loss of that person's respect?  None of these things are things I desire, or aim for...ever.  Nothing positive is accomplished with these outcomes: not in my mind, anyway.  I'm not saying that you should automatically assume the other person is right, and I'm not saying you always assume that you're right: I'm simply offering the possibility that two individuals with differing opinions can walk away from a discussion on controversial topics still liking one another.

So what, Annaliese, why the self-help blog?

It did turn out that way, didn't it?  I could say that I didn't mean it to, but I'm not surprised.  These are things I've found to be useful when talking with people, I figured it couldn't hurt to share.

But what got me thinking about it?

The current sociopolitical climate is tricky to weather (pun intended...haw haw).  Tides are shifting from recent historical times: inclusion and acceptance are proclaimed much more fully here than they have been in the past.  Inclusion is awesome!  Acknowledgement of different types of people is cool!  There's a great line in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves about that: "Allah loves wondrous variety."  People are different, period, end of story.  They look different, sound different, act different, and think different.

---I don't want to get into particular topics here, as I recognize that I have conservative, white, Christian privileges, and I'm not sure how much I want to bet on successfully maneuvering around them: failing success, I run the risk of losing some audience for this point.  (Sidenote: hopefully you'd respect/recognize my intent, regardless of success or failure in that...but that's an entire tome of topics, not for now.)---

My concern has, and always been, that in an attempt to include something previously excluded, that something previously included gets ostracized.  Please let me be clear here: this doesn't always happen, nor will it always continue to (sometimes) happen.  I have seen cases come out both ways, regarding a number of topics.  That's right, I read inflammatory comment sections and wall post threads: I want to know what makes people tick...or get ticked off.  What is it that a person finds so intolerable that he cannot abide to be facebook friends with someone who's opinions differ?  What is it that she finds so angering that she cannot follow someone's posts, or that he chooses to lecture an unknown individual on the internet?  Personally, it's hard for me to find something that elicits that reaction.  Probably because I hate to hate people.  It's hard, takes a lot of work, and it's draining.  Life is hard enough when you are trying to love everyone...I can't imagine life trying to hate some people and love other people.  It's confusing, and it's scary: do they hate me?  What about this person?  Is he going to hate me if I share my opinion?  Is she going to stop coming to my office if I speak my mind?

I can't hate.  I won't.  It's not worth it.  Besides, I very strongly agree with this:

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God.  Anyone who does not love dos not know God, because God is love.  In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him.  In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his son to be the propitiation for our sins.  Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.  No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us...  
There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.  For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.  We love because he first loved us.  If anyone says, "I love God," and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen.  And this commandment we have from him: whoever loves God must also love his brother."  

Lays it out pretty simply (well, minus the repetitive words):  love each other.

It doesn't say: "love people who look like you," or "love people who sound like you," or "love people who vote for the same presidential candidate as you," or "love people who only like their grits the same way you do," or "love people who speak the same dialect as you," or "love people who 100% always agree with your opinions."

It says "love one another."

Please, let me love you.  I'm not asking you to love me back.  I'm just asking that you let me love you for who you are, because that is who I am.  And I'm not changing that because you think I'm crazy.

Transparency or Translucency?

Recently, I've been mulling over some things.

Okay, a lot of things.  But this one in particular:  when is sharing good, and when is it too much?

I'm not talking about sharing your crayons, or your food, or your car, or your clothes.  I'm talking about sharing your thoughts, opinions, experiences, emotions, and fears.  Everyone has people in which they confide: significant others, friends, parents, dogs...but how much is too much?  Is there a line?

For instance: there's lots of people who have opinions on when to say "I love you" to that person you've been dating.  Some say, wait until you're ready to marry them, wait until X number of months, or whenever you really feel it you should let it out.  But, saying "I love you" carries power, no matter at what point in the relationship you say it.

I think secrets can hold that same power.  Or, semi-private parts of relationships that you share with others.  Secrets shared between friends give a lot of power to those friends.  I believe it's very important to have those friends in which you can confide: those friends also keep you accountable when you get weird.  I've been blessed with a great group of girlfriends I feel incredibly comfortable around: we share our fears and triumphs together, and it is so wonderful.  Having been in a place in my life where I didn't feel like I could share things--well, really where I refused to share things--it is awesome to have that freedom once more.  And while I do not fear my secrets being used inappropriately, I wonder: do we share too much?  Is there a line?

We often joke that nothing is sacred...should it be?  Do we hurt or hamper other relationships by sharing too much of them with others?  Or does transparency keep us honest?  What happens when the person you just fought with finds out a group of your friends now knows about it?  What happens when that thing you've been struggling with isn't 100% secret?  Do you get offended?  Do you have a right to get offended?  It's your secret.  But it's been shared among loving people, who love you too.  Does that kind of transparency make it okay?  It seems that it would still rankle, even if only a tiny bit.

But...people are built for relationships.  People are wired to share things.  We need people to lean on in times of trouble, to rejoice with us in times of joy, people to talk us through tough times, and people to love us when we make mistakes.  If we aren't at the least translucent, we don't have that opportunity.  By the same token, we need to express our feelings toward others.  We need to share emotions so that we may further understand them, and not keep them bottled up inside ourselves.  Even so, we are cautioned in Song of Songs, a story of a pair of lovers,"I adjure you...that you not stir up or awaken love until it pleases" (2:7, 3:5).  We are cautioned to "Keep your heart will all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life," (Proverbs 4:23).  We are cautioned not to declare our disagreements in the streets, but to amend quietly with one another so as not to dishonor our friends.  Where in all this do you calculate friendships, bosom buddies?  When does it stop becoming sharing and start becoming gossip?  When the hearts of those sharing shift focus from love and respect to judgement and disdain?  Even if the heart of the people still means well, does that make it right?

Internally, we all have a line.  There are things I choose to keep to myself: perhaps for only a time, perhaps for eternity.  I assume that is the same with others.  If it's not, do those who are transparent pages of emotions need to learn to keep some to themselves?  Or do us translucent individuals need to share it all, damning the consequences?

My parents, for many years, have prayed that I would have discernment and forbearance.  I now have a vague understanding of both these terms, but I too pray for continued maturation of both.  Discernment to know right from wrong, wise from unwise, and forbearance to know when to pick your battles.  I think that transparency and translucency in our emotional lives could do from--at the least--a vague understanding of both of these.  Is it wise to share the nitty gritty of the fight you just had with your husband?  Is it right to share with your new girlfriend your moments of very strong feelings for her?  Is it honorable to share with the girls what you struggle with in your relationship?  Is it respectful to share it all?  Forbearance tempered with discernment, when heeded, provides much of this guidance, I believe.  There is a time for everything to be revealed, it's just up to us to fumble for our pocket watches, decipher the dials, and pray that it's telling the right time.

Old Habits: Do they (N)ever die?

Everyone has one.

Most of us have more than one.

You know what I'm talking about.  That sneaky, often dark, quiet habit that lurks around you, waiting for the opportune moment.

Everyone's got their own special brand of a habit they wish they didn't have.  No one talks about it: mostly because we wish we didn't have to.

Sometimes you can go for months without it even crossing your mind.  Then, out of the blue, it consumes you.  You succumb.  You enjoy it,  You are relieved...until you're not.  You come out of the reverie incredulous.  Again?! Where did that come from?  You waffle between resignation, frustration, guilt, and apathy.

Whatever.  This is normal...normal for me.  Ain't nothin' new.
Are you listening to yourself?  Self, don't resign to this.  You're better than this, and you know it.

3 years ago, I wrote about this.  Present day...yes, I still feel these things.  And yet, I still struggle.

Philippians 4:8-9:"Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.  What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me--practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you."

Well, that's easier quoted than lived.

I can hear protests to this--in fact, I have protested this--saying: eh, it's just your thing.  Everyone's got one, it's human nature.  *Shrug*

SO?!  One of my favorite sayings from my dad is: "should be and is be are two different things."
Just because something is, doesn't mean it should be.  Just because this is normal, doesn't mean you need to resign yourself to it.  Surely we can break these habits.

Romans 7:21-25: "So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand.  For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members.  Wretched man that I am!  Who will deliver me from this body of death?  Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!  So then, I myself serve the law of God with my mind, but with my flesh I serve the law of sin."

2 Corinthians 12:7-10: "So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger o Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited.  Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me.  But he said to me, 'my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.  For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities.  For when I am weak, then I am strong."

So this is a good thing for me?

I get it when Paul says they keep him humble, he was doing all sorts of incredible things.  I'm a fairly normal graduate student: I'm not healing people.  I'm not doing anything fancy to bloat my ego (in fact I regularly need a boost in that department).

Again and again I am confronted with the thought that this is an opportunity.  What?  An opportunity for what?  To fall into an old crutch?  To resign myself to the same old, same old?

No.  It's an opportunity to ask for help.  It's an opportunity to step back and realize: hey, maybe this is happening because I'm trying to do something right.  Maybe this is a sign of other things in my life that are working.

Maybe, I need to recognize that side of things, meet the challenge head on, and be better than I have been.

The minute you resign yourself to not being better, to falling back into old habits, to not taking a step forward towards truth and a better self...that's the minute life wins.  Luckily, our lives are made up of lots of minutes...because life has beaten me for a lot of those.

But.  The next minute...that's a whole new battle, one that I haven't lost yet.

The Power in Vulnerability

Clearly, as is evidenced by my recent blog topics, I've been dealing with some heavy-hearted stuff lately.  Family health, personal growth, personal trials, and heartbreak make for deep, occasionally dark, posts.  Hate to do it to you again, but here's another one.

Laying your inner self open for the eyes of another is terrifying.  I've discussed this ad nauseam, I'm afraid.  However, just as your inner self is a complicated thing, so is the topic of vulnerability.

Dictionary.com defines vulnerability as such:

In some discussions (relationships in particular) vulnerability is regarded as a positive thing: it means you trust the other person enough to be open, honest, and true to yourself.  But, it makes me feel a little justified in being fearful, when I look at definition 1.  Capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt, as by a weapon.  AND definition 2.  Open to moral attack, criticism, temptation, etc.  AND definition 3, even if it is discussing a building and not a person.  Open to assault, difficult to defend. 

None of these things particularly inspire me to become vulnerable...at all.  Self preservation is a very strong instinct across the entire animal kingdom:  we encounter this daily.  Physical exercise, sports, martial arts, the military, education, seat-belts in vehicles...all these things encourage us to be knowledgeable and physically able to preserve ourselves.  But then, in relationships, you are taught to do an about face:  let that person in, let them see the real you that you hide behind those walls.  For some, this is easier than others.  Some individuals do not have walls, they are fully themselves all the time, open to whatever life throws their way.  This works out well for some, and for some it yields lots of scars.  Some individuals have a maze inside, only the most determined can find the heart: this protects from lots of scars, but it also causes them to "miss out."  (On what, sometimes I am not sure.)

However, I have experienced another side of this dilemma: when you are presented with vulnerability by another.  When someone lays themselves bare before you, trusting you completely.  Being presented with this is often more frightening to me than becoming vulnerable myself.  This gives you great power.  Great.  Power.  Here, that overused Spiderman quote comes unbidden into my mind: "With great power comes great responsibility."  It rings true (as it always does).  When you are presented with this gift of a person's heart laid bare in their hands, you have been presented with a huge responsibility.  

"My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside, show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely." Song of Songs 2:14

Your heart, tender like a bird, is given to me with open hands, brought out from your hiding places among the rocks.  Hollow bones, fragile feathers, tiny feet: these deserve to be treated with gentle, compassionate hands.  

My hands sometimes are not gentle.  

One wrong move, the dove might lose a feather.  Not a huge deal.  Keep making mistakes though, and I can crush bone.  This, this is great power.  A power I do not relish.  A power I never wish to use for a strategic advantage, a power which I hesitate to accept at all.  Being vulnerable, myself, is one thing.  Accepting the vulnerability of another is entirely another.  A thing that frightens me to the point of freezing.  I have loved and I have severely hurt.  And while I do not run from the first, I am terrified of experiencing the second, ever again.  

Some tell me that I cannot hold the blame for that kind of hurt.  It's not my fault.  I hear those words, and I think they are somehow true, but it does not change the fact that it was my hands that broke that bird.  It does not change the fact that I--we all--have that capability to crush hearts when presented with vulnerability.  Is that the price of mutual openness?  I give you my heart, you give me yours, let's hope I don't squeeze it to death?  Maybe my opinion would be different, if I had my heart broken.  My track record, though, I'm the one who does the breaking.  This.  This gives me pause.  This arrests my step forward.  It is not that I lack the courage to jump: it is that I am afraid to catch another.  Afraid to bungle it, again.  

"Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life." Proverbs 4:23

I suppose, though, you cannot refuse a gift.  Which, really, is how this kind of thing is presented.  You cannot force vulnerability.  You are presented with it, once you are trusted.  I suppose the giver knows you are imperfect, bound to bungle something, someday.  I suppose that is part of the weighing process:  do I roll over?  Do I trust that this person will respect, edify, challenge, protect, and love me?  Do I believe they will do their best to tread carefully, carrying this precious gift?  Yes?  

This is where trust, the trust I've spoken of before, comes in.  I have a perfect example to follow.  1 John, too long to quote here, lays this out quite clearly.  Lord help me emulate that perfect love.

"...And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.  God is love.  Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.  In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him.  There is no fear in love.  But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment.  The one who fears is not made perfect in love.  We love because he first loved us." 1 John 4:16-19

Vulnerablility

I am the strong one.

That is a self-imposed title.  But if I look at my life, look at those I know and love, everyone else has something bigger going on than I do.  I'm not going to air laundry here, but that's just how it is.

Well, until this big thing happened in my own life.  But I've spent a while making myself be strong for everyone else, being the one who has it together so that if someone needs to talk to me, they can without fear of my interjections with my own sagas.  I've spent long enough that sometimes I'm not sure I know how to be broken anymore...I'm not sure I know how to let myself...be vulnerable.

Don't misunderstand, I haven't been burned by someone, well, ever.  Maybe once, but that blame isn't totally on the other party.  To be honest, I've probably done my share of the burning; I think my mission to be "strong" became a spirit of "I don't need anyone," somewhere along the line.
Pro-tip: those two are not the same.  They can sometimes feel the same, when you're the one emoting, but...I can bet they don't feel the same to everyone else.

So now here I am.  Broken, tired, and weak.  But the wrinkle is that currently, it's the inner layer that's broken.  Like a burned-out light bulb: you look at it, you shake it and you can hear the burnt filament, but the outer glass is fine.  A cursory glance probably won't tell you it's broken.

In my heart of hearts, I know I need to be totally broken to be rebuilt.  Yes, I get it.  Break me down to the raw building blocks, then put me back together.  But I've spent so long willing my blocks together, they are not falling down easily.  They haven't fallen down yet, not all of them, anyway.  I know how,  I guess.  The very thing (me) holding myself together is the thing that needs to let me go.
Ever tried that?  I've got news for you if you haven't: it ain't easy.  It's not fun.  It takes a whole lot of courage to go toddler-mode and knock those blocks down.  And frankly, I'm not feeling very child-like.

But as for me, I am poor and needy;
    may the Lord think of me.
You are my help and my deliverer;
   you are my God, do not delay.