How necessary is vulnerability?

Humans desire connection.  To truly connect with another individual, we must allow ourselves to be vulnerable.  To truly be vulnerable, we must be authentic.  When we operate authentically, we gain a sense of belonging.  We cannot feel that sense of belonging if we are simply seeking to "fit in" (living in a way that is more concerned with being a part of something than being who we really are).  

In high school and at the beginning of college, I was an expert at "fitting in".  Being sensitive to the needs of others around me allowed me to cater my attitudes, behaviors and, frighteningly enough, eventually my thoughts into whatever way would benefit the relationships around me and allow me to feel as if I "fit in". The problem was that I never truly felt accepted and did not feel true belonging, because belonging is a byproduct of being accepted for who you truly are-- when you're honest about your thoughts, feelings, emotions, joys and fears.  

For the first year or two after I accepted Christ, I became a part of a Christian sub-culture that told me exactly how to act and feel and respond.  Question?  Go to the Bible. Fear?  Go to the Bible.  There was a scripture for everything and I began to live in a robotic way, quoting scripture and monitoring my thoughts and feelings to what was "holy" and "sanctifying".  Now, I do fully believe that being holy and sanctified is a true gift; but the gift I was receiving was tainted by my sub-conscious expectation that if I didn't do it the "right" way, I wouldn't truly be accepted.  How far from true grace. 

We've all experienced it.  The disapproving glance.  The careful wording of a thought or emotion to prevent anyone from misinterpreting it and reading into it (which, frankly, is impossible because that standard of perfectionism is always going to be based on other people's perceptions-- perceptions that change daily and even hourly).  How exhausting to live under such (sometimes self-imposed) scrutiny. 

Over the past 6-7 years,  I've truly come to understand my identity in Christ AND as a person (which are inextricably connected for me). I've started to practice the art of vulnerability in a more risky way.  The last few days have been a clear example of how God (and my community) has met me in this place and offered the freedom to just be.

A few nights ago I was on the phone sharing a story with one of my closest friends.  My mom found a cd that an old neighbor/ friend made for me.  When I saw the handwritten note on the cd cover, I remembered a moment with this friend that brought up deep emotion within me.  We were sitting in my room and we had just finished praying.  He looked at me for a moment then said, "I love the way you say Jesus' name.  It's as if I can tell how much you love Him just by hearing you say his name."  

It was a beautiful reminder of the deep and intimate love relationship I had with my Savior.  But as I remembered his words this time around, all I could feel was a deep sadness.

  "I feel as if we are like an old married couple now," I said to my friend on the other end of the line. "I know I love Him, but it seems as if I'm not as in love with Him anymore."  

We talked for awhile and said our goodnights and Daniel slowly entered the room.  He was visibly shaken up.  "I heard you on the phone," he slowly said, in a low voice. "Who were you talking to?" he asked.

"Julie," (my friend's name) I said, wondering why he seemed so upset.  And then it hit me.  He thought I was talking about HIM.  He thought I was telling my best friend about my dwindling romance with him!  I asked him if this is what he thought and he immediately enveloped me in a hug and replied, "Yes, it really worried me".   

It wasn't a good thing either way, whether I was talking about my husband or my Savior, but as we talked I posed the question, "I wonder what Jesus thinks about what just happened?  I wonder what His thoughts are about this exchange?"  

"He probably feels the same way I did," Daniel whispered.  "He's probably hurt." 

And then it hit me.  Jesus feels hurt over strained relationships which means Jesus allows Himself to be vulnerable.  My vulnerability to my friend (and Daniel's sharp overhearing ears :)) allowed me to see a physical representation of Jesus' love and care for me in my husband's response, which in turn deepened my relationship with my Savior (and my husband)--which was the very thing I had been hoping and praying for over the past few days. Plus I was able to assure my husband that I am completely IN love with him. :) 

If being vulnerable with one other person is a cool glass of water,  practicing vulnerability in community is a waterfall.  Today at church, we had a time for prayer requests.  Although we go to a small church, it can seem daunting because during prayer requests, individuals stand up where they are sitting (yes, in front of the whole church) and share their request.  It's authenticity and vulnerability at it's riskiest (and best).  Today, I took my scared and shaking self, and slowly stood up to share the pain in my heart about feeling as if my relationship with Jesus was becoming more stagnant than dynamic.  "I know He's still pursuing me," I said. "But I just need prayers for the grace to pursue Him in the way my heart desires."  

I sat down (still shaking, mind you), and a friend turned around and whispered, "great prayer."  After church, a couple of people came up to me and mentioned that they had the same exact prayer request, and it was as if they wanted to raise their hand and "second" what I just said.  

I took the risk to be vulnerable, and I was met with acceptance.  I stepped out of my comfort zone and spoke from my heart, and I was received with a sense of true belonging.  

If wisdom leads you to share, vulnerability is always worth it.  If it doesn't turn out well, it's a chance to grow in your true sense of self, regardless of how others may respond.  If it's met with love and encouragement, it's an opportunity to feel connected.  So even if you're shaking, step out.  You never know who may meet you on the ledge to join you in the experience.



** A beautiful song about God meeting us where we're at right now: Times

"I do not understand the mystery of grace- only that it meets us where we are, but does not leave us where it found us" ~ Lamott

Strip Clubs and Grace

Written in 2006- the beginning of something new came from these simple words...

The physical darkness seemed bright in comparison to the thick cloud of oppression I felt when entering the strip club last Thursday. I’d felt it before, but I pray that it will never cease to alarm me… that I will never become numb to the pain and distorted love that occurs here. My friend Sarah (I changed her name) is both a source of this pain and a recipient. She has been dancing there for almost 7 years. 
Walking into the club, my focus was simply on her-- to visit her. We usually hang out at restaurants and the pool if it’s summertime, but every once in awhile, when God leads, I go visit her at work. In public settings, we usually talk about her dogs, her family, her girlfriend, and sometimes God, but tonight, as I walked in, she was silently speaking something different: 
“Desire me” – her eyes dared, as she danced on the stage.
Only the girl on stage wasn’t her. She was hidden somewhere in the corner, hating the job, wanting to be who she really is—a deep, passionate person with an incredible heart for authenticity and love. But her alter ego took the stage—and danced. 
I really didn’t want her to see me from the stage. I didn’t want us to make eye contact. For me personally, in my place of sin, it’s incredibly hard to let people in, especially those who tear at my conscience. So I traveled to the corner of the room and sat on a chair, trying to block out the naked girls staring at me from the posters on the wall yet asking God to give me a deep sense of how they really feel. I need to feel their brokenness. Maybe if I can experience it I can pray them towards healing. Someone needs to feel it: they seem to be numb. 
After a song or two, a young man comes over to me and asks me if I need anything. “Want a drink?” he asks. I politely decline and move towards the back entrance into the owners office. I know the owner. He tells me he looks forward to my visits—the few times I come in consist of both talking with him and praying for him. 

He’s quite an interesting man. He knows what’s right and wrong yet he chooses the latter almost every time. 
His dads a Baptist preacher- He’s the prodigal son. 

I wait by the door and inquire as to where he is. The bartender says he’s not working tonight. Looks like I won’t be praying tonight—I reason. 

God had other plans. 

As I sat there waiting for Sarah to be done on stage, I am drawn to the same young man who approached me earlier. I strike up a conversation and he tells me about his family. I discover a similarity: preacher’s kids seem to flock together…and, in this case, directly to the strip club. David and I talk some about life in general, and then the subject turns to faith. He tells me about his Christian values and how he knows he will eventually stand in judgment for what he does. He tries not to think about it but reasons, “we’ll just wait and see what happens then”, he says. 
That’s a risky way to live, and we talk about that fact, but he doesn’t seem to understand it. The phrase, “Deception wears a pretty face” – keeps resonating in my mind like a broken record as I press on in our conversation. He opens up.
“The reason why I do a lot of this stuff is because a lot of bad things have happened to me,” he assures me, as if I had already placed a huge stamp on him that said “Hopeless son of satan”. 
“I understand,” I tell him. And I really do. 
And we talk about his sickness, how it ruins his intestines and the surgeries he’s had. It’s so sad that God gets a bad rep when it comes to sickness. 
I remind him, “You know that sickness is not from God right? It’s from satan.” 
He agrees. The conversation lulls and I proceed to do what I always do when this happens: offer prayer. 
We walk to the corner of the strip club and he places his hands out…palms up. He is in full prayer posture now. I grab them and pray. Pray for healing, pray for God’s purpose to be made known. Pray for conviction. Pray for love. 
He thanks me and I head to see Sarah. She’s off the stage now and chatting with the same young man who was placing dollar bills in her g-string a few moments earlier. She hugs me and proceeds with their conversation, only now I am included. 
Sarah is intense. She thinks deeply and profoundly. Tonight she has props to explain the inner workings of her mind. The Budweiser bottle sitting straight up in front of the customer/man, the thick deep line in the wood of the stage that separated the Budweiser from her third prop and drink of choice: jagged, sharp vodka. She begins to speak boldly and in slight slurs, only she isn’t drunk, but contemplative. 
“You know what the problem is Julie?” she asks.
“What’s that, “ I say. 
At this point I know that the problem is most likely much deeper than what she is about to say. Then again, she never fails to surprise me. 
“Everyone thinks I’m the Budweiser,” she slantedly says. “All nice and pretty and wrapped up.” 
I look at the bottle. It may be packaged nicely but I am not deceived. 
“They all think I’m the Budweiser, but really,” she leans in close, even though her voice carries well over the loud wailings of Nelly Furtado singing “Promiscuous girl” through the speakers. 
“Really…I’m not the Budweiser,” she says. She points to her drink-- “I’m the vodka.” 
“Really?” I ask.
“Yea,” she says. “I’m a big swirling mess. A huge mess of intensity and all sharp and crazy --mixed together in a huge bitter shot.” 

Cool analogy, I think. 

Snapping me back to reality she says, ”The problem is…” (she points directly at the line) “This.” 
“It’s that damn line,” she says. “The line between who people think I’m supposed to be and who I really am.” 

I glance at the line. Then up at the man who is staring blankly at us both. Then at Sarah. I lean in real close to her as if this is the biggest secret in the world and say, “Guess what?” 
Her expression softens and her ears perk up. She’s listening. 

“We’re all the vodka,” I whisper. 

She looks at me slightly confused, then I can see her slowly beginning to grasp this concept. Her face changes piece by piece, as if the blinds of understanding were slowly being opened on her beautiful face shade by shade. 
“We all have our stuff Sarah,” I tell her. 
She agrees. 
“We’re all a swirling mess of craziness in some way. Some people hide it better than others, but we’re broken people.” 
She seems slightly comforted by this fact and I proceed and ask her if anyone knows she’s the vodka. Is it possible for her to tell anyone about this swirling mess inside her?
“Oh no!” she exclaims, as if I had just asked her to sell one of her legs and poke out an eye. “No one can know that because then they’ll run away. I have to keep it all bottled up nicely in the Budweiser bottle. That way no one knows who I really am.”

I’m both unexplainably hurt and incredibly excited to hear this. She has come to a slight understanding of her own brokenness. And in my vulnerability I am hoping she sees that she is not the only one broken. 
We all may as well be poster children for the human condition. But the real secret in knowing our brokenness is nothing unless we have a full understanding of the Healer. So I lean in close again, this time she’s ready to hear, and I whisper. “I have a secret to tell you, Sarah.” 
She seems to like this game of secret-and-tell, and I continue in all sincerity. 

“God knows we’re the vodka,” I say. “And He totally accepts us and loves us with all our messiness.” 

She softens. Then quickly hardens back up. 'Keep up the stage persona', I can just imagine her telling herself. But she’s not on stage at this particular moment and she’s not totally hardened. She still cares and she still loves. 
She proceeds to tell me about the last time she prayed, and how afterwards she did the opposite of what she knew she was supposed to do. She seems frustrated and she starts pounding the table, as if beating her fist against the wood will somehow equate to punishing herself for her sins. I interrupt and simply say, “You can’t save yourself.” Over and over. I think she already knew that but hearing it out loud seemed to be cathartic to her. I myself never tire of hearing it. I need to hear it. And know it and believe it. 
*He saves me from myself.*

It was a profound moment, but the nature of a moment is that it passes, and it did. I just hope it left something significant we can return to in the secret contemplative times. 
As I was finishing up our conversation, my friend Ashley comes in and starts something completely brand new. After small talking for a while, Ashley informs me that she really feels like she needs to pray for Sarah. She’s thinking she should pray for shame to be broken off of her. 
I've learned that the nature of shame is a tricky thing. It leaves you in a moment long after that moment has passed. It suddenly defines you not by WHO you are but rather by WHAT you DO or what you have done. And it never lets you move forward. Ever. 
Right before we lay our hands on Sarah, another dancer walks by. From her view, she sees her co-worker in this hallway talking to two strangers intensely and begins to mock, “Sarah, are you in trouble?” She points her finger and jokes “shame, shame, shame”. And from that place we now know what to pray in all confidence… and so we do.

Ashley’s voice is soothing, but powerful. I open my eyes during the middle of the prayer and glance at Sarah. Her eyes are closed. She is not in a faraway place. She is present. She is soaking in the prayer. She is soaking in the love that God is pouring out on her. She is emptied out and real and not defined by the skimpy material covering three small spots on her body or the sharp, pointed heels laced up her legs. 
She is fully herself and she is beautiful. 

Grace Magnets

Oh how I desire to be a person of grace. The concept of grace is so beautiful and to see it lived out is one of the most freeing things in the world, in my opinion. I love how my favorite author, Francis Frangipane, describes grace and the ways to become a “magnet” for it.

” [There were] four realities I personally experienced that were fundamental to my ongoing spiritual development. I’ll call these “grace magnets.” What I mean is that walking in these four truths actually attract the grace of God to my life. Remember also that grace is not just unmerited favor, it is the workmanship of God in our lives (see Eph. 2:8-10). We are saved by grace and also changed by grace.

So, what things attract grace (that is, the workmanship of God) to our lives? I narrowed my grace magnets to four principle realities:

1). Passion to be like Christ. Rom 8:28-29. God works all things for the good of our conformity to Jesus Christ. If we expect grace to change us, we must have a vision for the goal God has for us. That goal is Christlikeness.

2). Humility. The Bible says repeatedly that God gives grace to the humble but resists the proud. If we want to change, we must desire humility.

3). Prayer. It is one thing to humble ourselves and become dependent upon God, but prayer liberates us to obtain the promises and provisions of God to meet our needs.

4). Unity. Oneness with other Christians is the first expression of spiritual maturity. We must know the power of Christ in us as individuals, but also the corporate manifestation of Christ, which is actually the substructure of revival. We are to be perfected “into a unit” (John 17). Without the revelation of Christ-centered unity, we have no hope of seeing citywide revival.”

I pray I can truly live into these concepts as I grow in my relationship with God to become a magnet of beautiful, powerful and life-changing grace.