Vulnerability is Scary.

 

Someone I love sent me this picture a couple days ago.  I have to admit that it made me pause.  I look so purposeful, cool, calm, and collected.  But the truth is this woman was filled with overwhelming fear.  I remember that day, those weeks, those months.  Some still say that the pandemic caused me to lose focus, but in all reality it called me to re-focus.  On what really matters, on what I really want out of this life.  We only get one, you know.  

I held the pulpit that day weary to my bones.  Burned out and unable to find the depth of joy I had always experienced. Grateful for hard lessons learned only by grieving life's foundational people, loss that led to loneliness, that led to soul-searching, not settling.  Fear that the rhetoric inside me was true, lifelong thoughts that incessantly reminded me that people would really only love me because of what I accomplished, the hours I worked, the lengths I went to grow and love and move people out of complacency.  

Little did I know that a new journey was about to begin, in all the ways.  I began to recognize the power of Love - the kind that I preached and taught, so everyone else would find it in themselves, the kind I had failed to realize was surrounding me, too.  It started with sympathy cards offering grace and kindness, cemetery meetings with people who shared the hardest parts of their lives through tears, funeral directors who'd laugh and cry and send me on life-altering adventures, and friends...I mean, REAL friends who let me sit with them and share the hardest truths I've ever spoken or felt, certain that they'd bail, and overwhelmed when they loved me right where I was, just as I am. Friends who've said "we're in this together," and have meant it every single day.   

I didn't know that day that what I longed for the most God had brought right to my doorstep.  The kind of soul-love that I always knew existed so would never settle for less. The kind of love that turns impossibilities into possibilities, that requires more brave than I ever knew I had in me.  The messiest, hardest, and painful beginnings of a forever love that I thought I would never find, found me, and she has changed and challenged me to be the best version of myself.  My "no, this can't be, it will mess up my whole life," slowly turned into "God, is this it? What I've prayed for so long I'd given up on?" Day by day, text by text, my guard came down and profound love planted its seeds.  

My entire life I have focused on one thing, being the best at what I knew I was called to do.  For a time in my life that was to be an athlete, then it became my goal to be the best ordained Elder in The United Methodist Church that I could possibly be, to love people genuinely and do whatever I could to make sure that all the people with whom I come in contact know that they are loved by a God who knows them.  This focus took precedent over everything else, including my family.  And it was good and valuable, and I kept telling myself that "this is enough."  Until it wasn't.  Leading now to this moment when I am confronted by the reality that who I love might just prevent me from doing what God has created me to do.  That is best kept a conversation for another time, I suppose.  

You know these dots, right?  The ones that just keep moving as someone types, the three little dots that make you wait for someone's reply?  For months I have been living in this space, sharing with the people I love the most, the ones who I want to know the truth, writing letters, making phone calls, and then waiting as the three dots just hang on the screen...as I wait to see if who I have fallen madly in love with means persons in my life no longer want to be there.  I wait and ponder if the people who loved me as a pastor will now decide I cannot possibly be called to preach and teach in their churches.  I wonder who will let me know of their disappointment, who will make sure and let me know that I am sinful or eternally doomed.  

The funny thing is this...in this moment right now I am the healthiest version of myself that I have ever been.  I am learning so much about ministry this year as I hold the hands of the sickest, most isolated Covid patients, and so much about myself as I process and form new foundations for self-understanding and care.  My heart is filled with gratitude for this gift that God has given to me, someone to share my life with, someone who makes me better.  I have always been an ally for the lgbtq+ community but I severely underestimated the amount of fear and vulnerability that comes with the process of truly coming out, living authentically.  If you are a part of that community, I am so sorry for not being bolder and braver on your behalf.  

Friends, I share this with you not to ask for your permission, or to apologize for potentially not being who you want me to be, but because I am done living in fear.  I am not going to let fear win anymore.  Instead I am trusting God all the way on this one, day by day, moment by moment, forward step after forward step.  And even in the midst of professional uncertainty about what will be next following this chaplain residency year, I am most grateful to be loved, really fully loved.  

Should our journey need to end here, I understand.  If you need to ask questions, do. If you decide to hang in there with me, I hope to write more often, especially for Lent.  If there is one thing I hope we have learned this last year, it is that we are all in this together.  Life's just too short not to be lived fully.  

Blessings and love, friends. 

Devon