The Courage to be Vulnerable

I follow this blog about a beautiful woman named Edie--Christian, wife, mother, homeschool provider, lover of books, vintage items, and doctor turned at-home mother. Her family most recently experienced the devastating loss of their home through a fire. As one might imagine this loss has been emotionally and physically exhausting (to say the least) for her as she copes with her new reality. She's slowly returning to her blog, where she shares and documents her life. Her faith in the Lord is truly inspiring.

Her post from January 31 really struck a cord with me as I cope with my own vulnerability these days. Am I willing to expose my own vulnerability?

I entered a "club" three years ago today that I never expect or desired to join. This "club" is not one that a parent inspires to have membership to. Its membership is not sought after by a single (sane) soul. However, sometimes joining a club is not by choice, but prescribed by a greater power for one living an earthly journey. It's not a punishment to belong to such an undesirable club, but it doesn't come without excruciating physical, mental and emotional pain.

The pain is somewhat of an initiating ritual for its newcomers. You feel the pain right up in your face for a long time. It hurts like a bitch. It screams at you, cripples you over in pain, and makes you wonder if you are dying from the inside out. You feel deserted. Left questioning, "Why me. What did I do wrong to deserve such pain? Why not someone else?"

Eventually, that initial pain goes away. You are able to regain strength through faith and friendship. You make friends within this club that you never knew were members. The members are quiet, yet some of the most faith-filled and compassionate people I've met. They are ordinary people who you would never imagine held a membership card. Their tears are so very real and surface quickly.

Today my tears are not so much tears of sadness, but tears of accomplishment. Learning to live without a tiny being that I (unconsciously) birthed into this world is not something that can be done in one day. It is a challenge that I am faced with and reminded of each and every day. It is a challenge that I pray and have faith that I will never have to start over.

When I think back to my most difficult grieving period, I cannot help but give so much thanks for those who constantly checked in on me and my family. They were in my face about as much as my pain was--and for that I am so thankful. They allowed me to cry. They allowed me live through my pain and not go around it. They acknowledged the fact that Hudson existed, and that he will always live through us.

And for my husband.

His support.

His physical presence.

His tears.

His faith.

His positive attitude.

His willingness to get through it with me.

I will always be grateful.

We walked the treacherous journey together.

We still walk together.

We will walk together.

Forever.

And for Henry

He allowed me to laugh.

He allowed me to play.

He allowed me to be a child.

He gave me reason to continue being a mother each day.

He needed me,

but I needed him more.

And for Sherry.

Who gave me hope for my future as a mother.

Who would talk and sit in silence on the phone with me

each

and

every

day

while the rest of the world went on as normal.

For my sister

parents

in laws

friends who we call family

Thank you for caring for Henry when I couldn't.

Caring for me when I couldn't.

And for being in my face

when

maybe

you

thought

you

shouldn't.

For my Lord and Savior

I know You cried when I cried.

That I didn't do anything to deserve losing a child.

I know Your plan for me is by far greater than I can imagine.

That all things are perfect in Your image.

That our ability to develop and sustain relationship in ways that honor and glorify You is our reward.

We must be deliberate with our relationship.

Edie wrote that relationships require us to be vulnerable.

period.
that we are willing to need someone else.
that we are willing to say so.
that we are willing to be hurt.
because the willingness to be vulnerable is where relationship lives.

And she's right. I've really gained perspective on the meaning of true friendship.

True friends still remember.

Still ask.

Have not forgotten.

Know that I still ache for the absence of my baby.

And it's okay if they've forgotten.

I expect people to forget.

I know I won't forget.

And I know those who allow me to be most vulnerable

won't

let

me.