The moment I wrote publicly about our miscarriage, healing began.
I can’t wrap my mind around how that works. A huge part of me wanted to keep the whole affair private, tucked sacredly inside my heart. (And I do still sometimes wish my pregnant friends didn’t know the truth, simply because each new life deserves celebration, unfettered by the grief of others.) Still, I don’t regret my decision to share. I shake my head and wonder at how a simple admission, “we hurt,” could become such miracle salve.
All I know is this: people need each other. And yes, relationships are messy, and scary. Friends start as strangers, and you’re guaranteed to get hurt.
At the heart of every true connection is vulnerability… the willingness to simply be your broken self, rather than an improved facade of the truth. The boldness to be imperfect without apology.
The search for true friendship is dangerous business. One of my best friends from our last home also recently moved, and we often chat about the frightful work of finding a new inner circle… figuring out with whom it’s safe to open our tender hearts.
An ancient definition of courage is “the willingness to be fully known.” I love this definition. I think about it daily, and pray to drop every facade, every ounce of pride, and live as the real, broken, saved-by-grace and loved-by-God-despite-many-flaws Rachel.
The danger? Well, people might see me… really see me… and be repulsed.
The up side? The friends I know God will grant me will be true.
And who doesn’t want true friends?