But you know me, most days aren't.
It's day to appreciate friends that get you, people that could be your kindred spirits.
The sun is shining. The grass is soft and tickly between my toes. Butterflies are abundantly everywhere.
And I'm thinking about vulnerability.
It grows us up and down simultaneously. In one way it makes us feel small, fragile at best. It reverts us back to feeling like a child, dependent on someone else for help because we can't quite reach the cookie jar no matter how high we push up on our tipey-toes.
In other ways it makes us feel big, because in the midst of vulnerability there is strength and power and other good things. Ironically, to depend on others actually makes us stronger than standing alone.
To share some wisdom from a friend of mine: Isolation is unhealthy. Being strong does not mean we don't need dependence. Being strong is recognizing that we do.
Go community.
We are made for it.
The thing is, fellowship is hard. It's nothing short of challenging to be authentic with people, to let your guard down and live the messy. It means digging your hands deep into the earth and getting dirt under your nails. It means rolling around in the grass right there alongside the bugs and worms and life.
Through the laughter and the tears.
Being vulnerable means embracing each other genuinely. It means having honest conversation. It means sharing deeper stories with each other.
We all have stories to tell. I've said it before and I'll say it again: we're made of more than just cells.
We need each other, lovelies. You need someone to know the real you. You need someone to encourage you and listen to you and love you faithfully and well.
And I'm sure someone else needs you.
Here's a secret: I used to be the worst at living this out. I thrived so much on my own independence for so long that I had to learn the ways of fellowship. I didn't know the reason for it. I didn't think that the concept of being vulnerable applied to me.
I was fine, I had my life together, had it all figured out.
And I didn't need anyone.
Until I did.
I remember sitting on the curb in a coffee shop parking lot, sobbing tears of helplessness and confusion because of burdens that I was carrying at that time.
This clay jar had broken and shattered into a million little pieces.
And it wasn't like I didn't have God. He was there in that moment, He was going before me and I was certainly not alone.
But the thing is, God is not a God of isolation. God even within Himself has community. There is Jesus, there is the Father, there is the strange but attractive Holy Spirit. There are the twelve, whom Jesus ate and drank and shared life with.
God works best in the sweet harmonious workings together of community, because God at the core is love.
And love can't happen without other people, because love is made to happen in community. Love is made to weave it's way into the lives of two or more people. Maybe this is what it partially means when the Scriptures say 'where two or more are gathered, there I am among them' (Matthew 18:20).
God is love, and love is the glue that holds people together.
So there I found myself, crying out my heart and blubbering something awful, and I realized that I was not made to go this life alone. So I called a friend. And she came, she prayed, she listened, she spoke truth. She let me cry and just sat with me. And then she walked through the fiery flames of my circumstances together. She lived love with me.
In that, we experienced God.
If you're living in isolation, then do you really have God?
It's a hard question to ask, because it forces many of us to face various deep-seated fears.
Fear of vulnerability. Fear of trusting. Fear of the unknown.
Darling, it's worth it. You're made for such a life, one that is spirit-breathed and amazing and gloriously rich. You're a body part, and if you sever yourself away from the body then you hurt not only yourself but you hurt the entire union. Not that you aren't also a complete creation, because you are. It's a paradox I think. You're whole and beautiful on your own. You don't need a man or a woman or a person to fulfill all of your needs. But we do at the same time help each other grow.
All of us are our best forms of ourselves when we are living love among one another.
Not that wandering is bad. Heaven knows I've wandered. For the first time in my life I actually am grounded. When I moved to Abilene something changed, something became solidified and I entered a season of being rooted.
But seasons change.
And God is in the wilderness.
There's beauty in the seeking, beauty in following the spirit to places and spaces that are safe and wild and free. Sometimes you need to walk into the desert to get right with God. Sometimes you need to experience life outside of your bubble. Sometimes you need to follow that urge to the ends of the earth to see what's waiting for you. There's beauty in the wandering.
But wandering is not the same as isolation.
I would know. I've lived both ways. Wandering comes from a place of softness, a place of freedom and glory and a mindset that asks 'where now, Papa?'
Isolation is from a different place, one that believes whispered lies and keeps the gates up and closed, locked tightly.
Isolation is motivated by fear; wandering is driven by love.
Isolation holds you captive; wandering sets you free.
And community is a callin', love. Fellowship is waiting for you.
You are made to love and be loved.
You are made to live out the kingdom.
It's fantastic here, this side of heaven. We're real and raw and vulnerable and yikes. It'll make you feel small because you'll realize just how much you can't do on your own. It'll make you feel like a child again. It's scary, this spirit-breathed life. But we love it. We're made for it.
And you are too.
