Earlier this month I wrote about waiting. I went on and on about waiting with hope and peace. Then a couple of days ago I shared what I still consider to be an incredibly valuable video on a talk about vulnerability. And of course, I made this public proclamation of sorts on the value of vulnerability. I vowed to myself to seek to live in a way that is more wholehearted, walking through the good and the bad in a way that is real and honest.
Let's talk for a minute about what happens when you choose a posture of vulnerability for yourself. It may look like this: You find yourself in a situation in which you risk your personal safety to protect your personal property and hopefully, that of someone else. And as absurd as the interaction with a criminal who has taken too many Xanax can be, a couple of days later you find yourself afraid. You begin to deconstruct the actual events and you begin to realize all that could have happened. And despite reminding yourself the danger playing "What if" can do to a person, you can't help but wonder what is going to happen in the future. You dream about chaotic events and mugshots and you find yourself feeling exposed and edgy, completely vulnerable. And while you are normally pretty big on sucking it up, you cut yourself some slack, realizing that being vulnerable means starting with yourself. You show yourself some compassion.
Then there is the whole waiting thing. You want to sit reverently in The Waiting Place? It might look something like this: Your husband has a rountine doctors appointment on a Friday. After a short discussion, you suddenly find yourself on an accelerated course of treatment. Radiation after Christmas isn't ideal, for sure, but after some thought and discussion, maybe it is for the best. Let's get this behind us. So the routine ultrasound a few days before Christmas is followed almost immediately by a highly concerned phone call from the doctor. Biopsy. Next week. And then you know that the door that closed behind you and the one that is yet to open leave you in The Waiting Place. So you cry a little bit because who wouldn't, right? Afterall, you are still counting your blessings from the beginning of this whole ordeal when you found yourself sitting in a waiting room holding your spouse's hand. Staring out the window, aware of the changing light of Fall, you asked of yourself and God: Is this what it feels like to have taken it all for granted? You realize once again that you aren't ready to know the answer to that question. So you hope. You promise that you won't rush the beauty and mystery of the humble birth of your Savior to get to next week. You will wait quietly. Actively. You will wait with hope, knowing that one day you will speak of this time as the time you learned to wait with peace. You cut yourself a little more slack and you share your real self, your fear and the questions that go with it in a public way, a way that let's people see you, because you remembered the truth as Brene Brown shared it: vulnerability is necessary. Perhaps you are learning. Just in time.
Let's talk for a minute about what happens when you choose a posture of vulnerability for yourself. It may look like this: You find yourself in a situation in which you risk your personal safety to protect your personal property and hopefully, that of someone else. And as absurd as the interaction with a criminal who has taken too many Xanax can be, a couple of days later you find yourself afraid. You begin to deconstruct the actual events and you begin to realize all that could have happened. And despite reminding yourself the danger playing "What if" can do to a person, you can't help but wonder what is going to happen in the future. You dream about chaotic events and mugshots and you find yourself feeling exposed and edgy, completely vulnerable. And while you are normally pretty big on sucking it up, you cut yourself some slack, realizing that being vulnerable means starting with yourself. You show yourself some compassion.
Then there is the whole waiting thing. You want to sit reverently in The Waiting Place? It might look something like this: Your husband has a rountine doctors appointment on a Friday. After a short discussion, you suddenly find yourself on an accelerated course of treatment. Radiation after Christmas isn't ideal, for sure, but after some thought and discussion, maybe it is for the best. Let's get this behind us. So the routine ultrasound a few days before Christmas is followed almost immediately by a highly concerned phone call from the doctor. Biopsy. Next week. And then you know that the door that closed behind you and the one that is yet to open leave you in The Waiting Place. So you cry a little bit because who wouldn't, right? Afterall, you are still counting your blessings from the beginning of this whole ordeal when you found yourself sitting in a waiting room holding your spouse's hand. Staring out the window, aware of the changing light of Fall, you asked of yourself and God: Is this what it feels like to have taken it all for granted? You realize once again that you aren't ready to know the answer to that question. So you hope. You promise that you won't rush the beauty and mystery of the humble birth of your Savior to get to next week. You will wait quietly. Actively. You will wait with hope, knowing that one day you will speak of this time as the time you learned to wait with peace. You cut yourself a little more slack and you share your real self, your fear and the questions that go with it in a public way, a way that let's people see you, because you remembered the truth as Brene Brown shared it: vulnerability is necessary. Perhaps you are learning. Just in time.
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