In my pride, it becomes so, so, so easy to push people away when I come face to face with my brokenness. It’s easy to withdraw, easy to hide, easy to put up the walls. Perhaps it’s part of the growing pains of becoming an adult – as my circle becomes smaller, as I become more independent, as I spend more time thinking and less time socializing, it’s easy to close myself off and tell myself I can and should handle things myself. People don’t need to know. They have their own things to worry about and their own burdens to carry. And in some ways, I think it’s a natural progression. As we grow older, we have more things to take care of in our personal spheres and we spend more time actually taking care of them than sharing them with our friends.
But my pride brings me to a place where I close the doors and don’t want to come out until I have things under control, have things figured out. I’ve been here before. Is it because I don’t want to burden people? Maybe. But I think it’s mostly because I don’t want to show my weakness. And if I have to show it, I better at least know how to fix it or have already “fixed” it. The completely unattainable standard of perfection that I set for myself looms somewhere in the background, even though I know I’ll never reach it and I know that I do not have to reach it.
But I’ve also been in the place where I invite people in to my brokenness – vulnerable, messy, without answers. But somewhere in the midst of “growing up”, pride has taken over and said that that place wasn’t necessary. People don’t need to see the broken, ugly, vulnerable, messy, far-below-perfect parts of me. People don’t need to see the process, just the end when I’m able to neatly sum up what I’ve learned. I can’t fall short of expectations. I don’t want people to think less of me.
But oh, there is one that comes uninvited and sees all. There is one who understands my brokenness and frailty much more deeply than I do, and there is no hiding from him. And he says that I need to think less of me – think of myself less, that is, and to instead think of him. And to not only think of him, but to look for him, to fix my eyes on him, and to never look away. Because every beat of my rebellious heart has been covered by his grace and every shortcoming I’ll ever have is met with his sufficiency. His power is made perfect in my many, many weaknesses. So may these weaknesses point me to Christ, the redeemer of all things, who is able to somehow use unworthy things to bring glory to himself. He is able to use the ugliness to point to his beauty. But in order for him to do that, I must let him. I must be willing to show and to tell, but most of all to surrender.
So, clearly, #WordVomitWednesday isn’t what it used to be. It was fun while it lasted, and I’m so thankful for all of my friends who constantly encouraged me to write. But who knows, sometimes you will get random Vomits in times such as these. Enjoy. 🙂