Vulnerability Sucks

A friend said today, "vulnerability sucks
but......  it's good."

And then I read
"lean into pain,
embrace sorrow to
learn the lessons 
she has to teach."

blech.

So
I open my heart.

now what do I do with
this bleeding mess?

oh right.
embrace the pain,
the sorrow,
learn the lessons 
she has to teach.

[insert curses here]

vulnerability sucks
but......  it's good.
at least on paper.

"so.

please know.

wherever your wounds are,

there stands the Savior.

and without sorrow,

i would not be kind and tender,

but blind and empty and insensitive."  - ann kiemel, someone much wiser than I

So many reasons there were to
hide -
out in the open.
Smile for the camera honey,
and sometimes it reached my eyes.

Some of the reasons are gone now
most if truth be told
but not the scars
what do I do about the damn scars?

So I still hide -
out in the open.

Today

I hurt.
Do you see me?
Do you care?
Can you bear the weight of my story?

But I look to Jesus,
The Author and Perfecter 
Of my faith,
Who, for the joy set before him,
Endured the cross
Scorning its shame
And sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

Too much and not enough.

It's too much because it's not enough.
pain and anger
disappointment
sadness
too much effort to pretend it doesn't matter.
much too much.

Because it's not enough
care or concern
compassion
friendship
love
not enough of even giving a damn.
not nearly enough.

When you fall in love, it is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion.That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.- Captain Corelli's Mandolin.

"Love is the beauty of the soul."--St. Augustine

My friends are my estate. Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them. They tell me those who were poor early have different views of gold. I don't know how that is. God is not so wary as we, else He would give us no friends, lest we forget Him. - Emily Dickinson