It’s 7 a.m. on Saturday morning and my friend is knocking on the door. We’ve decided to take an early morning walk. Her children are home sleeping, and mine slumber upstairs. I greet her with a smile and steaming coffee.
“Come on in,” I say. I hand her the mug, and she steps in with a rush of February air.
We move, for a few minutes, to the dining room. As we do, she steps over a snow boot, a few Matchbox cars and the puppy’s stuffed rabbit. It’s okay. This is a family home and my friend doesn’t mind.
And as we pull out chairs to sit across from one another, I notice a beautiful thing.
We can sit together, face to face, and love and accept each another just as we are.
It’s too early for make-up. There’s nothing to whisper away the hints of time. There’s nothing to draw out our best features. Nothing to accentuate what we have. My hair is a mess. My pajama top is hiding under my sweatshirt. Certainly, I’m completely undone.
But this is how we can be.
Vulnerable.
Willing to be known.
Without need to cover or correct.
It’s the way that my friend and I share with one another, too. It’s natural delve to deep places. Our friendship has developed, stretched and grown, to this sweet state. I can put everything on the table, with honesty and confidence, and my friend can do the same.
Vulnerability and trust are the strands that weave our relationship.
We can take the risk of falling free.
I had another friend once, long ago, who shared words I’ll never forget: “You don’t have to tell everyone everything. But you need to have someone to share beyond some things.”
Sharing beyond some things, I believe, means sharing at an honest, gut-level. It means opening our lives to another for love, prayer and wisdom. We need a place of quiet confidence. A place to be real–without judgment. A place of listening. A place of comfort. A place of encouragement in accord with God’s powerful Word.
I like to think of Moses as he stood on the top of the hill when the Israelites fought Amalek. When Moses held his arms high, Israel prevailed. When he lowered them, Amalek prevailed. But Moses’ arms grew weary. So what did his friends do? They sat him down and held up his arms.
That’s what we do for one another as sisters in the Lord. When we share deeply, letting vulnerability become our strength, we allow someone else to hold up our arms.
My friend and I talk in whispers, while the morning sky colors pink, and it’s a blessing that we are able to move beyond some things. And when our souls are open and clean and honest as our faces, we find the solid ground of love, support and God’s strength and grace.
The house is quiet. We delay the walk for a few minutes more, and we begin to pray. My friend reaches across the table, and she takes my hand in her own.
Vulnerability isn’t a weakness.
When it’s the ground-level of a friendship, it’s a most powerful thing.
