I’ve been reading a book by Kris Vallotton and in it, he wrote, “…we should leave our armor at the door when we get home. We should allow ourselves to be vulnerable, impressionable, teachable, and correctable….” This struck a cord. The reason is because this has become a lesson in my current season of life. What does it look like to come “home” and be that vulnerable with your people, family, etc? What does that look like when you’re not used to it and don’t know people well yet? I don’t have the answers really, but I’m learning. So I’m inviting you into this moment with me to see it all.
After wrapping up our month in Cote d’Ivoire, my whole squad traveled to Accra, Ghana together to debrief for a few days & processed the past month individually and together. The time consisted of sharing stories between teams who’d not seen each other for weeks, processing life on the field with some of our leaders and each other, resting together, adventuring some, and listening to the Lord.
We laughed, cried, shared, and learned. And as the Lord and I began to talk about my past month, I realized some lessons I’d learned – some of the biggest include not seeing hard things as bad things, that I have things to teach and so does my team and I need to learn from them, also that I need my community, and vulnerability is OK, not bad, and is often needed.
So how do these lessons translate from a thought and something that I perceive the Lord is teaching me to an implementation in my own life? How do I put these in action around me today?
I love honesty – so here it is.
I had clammed up to a degree when it came to my team and squad. I loved them, mostly trusted them, and mainly felt like I was in the stages of getting to know them and didn’t know how much to put out there or how much to let them in. This all collided – the newness of this community, the missing of my familiar community back home who would already know what I needed, the choice of whether I fully bought into this community right now or didn’t, and the process of me grieving the death of my nana along with the major changes occurring simultaneously.
All of this together felt like a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that I just couldn’t quite manage to sift through on my own. My tendencies to internally process, to want to be OK already, to take time to build a lot of trust before I open up kept me from sharing most of this with my squad and team. I would give them the smallest glimpses into this and then quickly wrap it up tight yet again.
As the Lord began to sit with me in my grief and help me process what happened, it was good. He lifted burdens, understood and cared for me. I would not trade that experience for anything! However, I struggled with feeling “off” – I just didn’t quite feel like myself emotionally or spiritually, and that was hard for me to acknowledge or admit to myself, not mentioning anyone else.
As debrief happened, I began to notice my “not OK” significantly. One night after a teaching session, I chatted with my team leader and friend Taylor on a peaceful, covered balcony that had a sweet breeze. As we continued, we looked over and saw several of my squad-mates taking the time to pray for one another. A chair was in the middle of them, one person would sit that wanted prayer, and the rest would sit or stand around this person and talk to God about what was going on and listen to Him. Back home and on the World Race, we call this the hot seat! Taylor and I then walked up and joined in – I love that this is a norm; and what I loved even more was the simple taste of something happening that felt like home because it’s what I’ve done with friends time and time again.
They’d just finished praying and asked if someone else wanted prayer. Taylor went first and asked for healing since she’d had malaria. Then they asked one more time, I stood there thinking I would be good. I’d pray for others and go on. My heartbeat began to quicken, and I could feel the Lord pointing at my heart in the moment and asking me to let someone in. I don’t love people seeing me “not OK” or struggling and knew this would be messy and beautiful and good. In that moment of being concerned, afraid, and uncertain, I began to look at this group of people and open my mouth – putting my heart on the line, sharing my “not OK”, and starting a big ugly cry (snot and all).
I spoke of losing my grandma (not everyone knew about this yet), feeling “off” and not like myself. They sat me in the middle in that chair and it felt like home immediately. They prayed on my behalf and took me to the Lord, they carried me in their hearts well, and they spoke so much truth with love into me (the real me that didn’t have to have it all together, have it figured out, or know the outcome right away). They felt my pain and hurt, listened to the Lord carefully, prayed words that only my perfect Jesus would know that I needed to hear, which opened my tearing floodgates even more. I could literally feel myself breaking down – not just emotionally though.
First, I tore down some major barriers and let people see me struggle and let them encourage me while in the midst of my struggle. And not just anyone – these people loved me like their own and didn’t plan on changing that. Second, I let people into the places that hurt right now and got real with them about it. Third, Jesus met me in that raw moment with love, comfort, and truth with other people.
So I don’t have this whole vulnerability thing figured out but have begun this amazing process of letting them in, getting really honest about life, and expressing things I’m needing to my people. I’ve since taught some Sunday school children about friends being like those from Luke 5 – they took their lame friend on a mat to Jesus and lowered him through a roof amidst a crowd to get to Jesus so He could heal him. I realized that we all at some point are that lame friend and we need others to take us to the Lord. Sometimes we are the friends carrying others. Both are OK, and I’m thankful that the Lord is taking me on this journey around the world and into His heart for me.
From my heart to yours,
Kim
