The cart sat just outside the hospital room, filled with bright yellow paper gowns that each of us had to don along with masks and gloves before we could enter. As an ICU nurse, I took great caution with these patients on “contact isolation.” That cart signified they had a highly contagious bacteria that I needed to protect myself from. I covered myself to keep from getting infected or spreading it to others.

I thought about those paper gowns a few weeks ago when my husband was sharing stories from his life just before we met. He was in a small town, working full time, and living in a dark apartment his friends nicknamed “the dungeon.” To make matters worse, the small beach town where he lived went from bustling with life in the summer to deserted and desolate in the winter.

He spoke of how difficult that season was for him spiritually and emotionally. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders and spoke the hard truth he’d learned: “Isolation breeds depression.”

When we are left alone and isolated, there’s nothing to stop our dark infectious thoughts. They breed and fester when left unattended.

The opposite is also true: healthy vibrant relationships breed hope. And hope is contagious. 

Communities full of joy and hope are contagious. When we come in contact with other believers who have encountered hardship and who continue to trust the Lord, we are inspired to do the same. We become infected with hope. 

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.” Romans 5:5

My friend Ellen just recently moved to town. We’d worked together at the hospital a few years back in a different city often donning those yellow paper gowns, and now we found ourselves gladly together again. She messaged me this last weekend and asked if we could get together and go for a walk. We strolled and talked, then when we got back to my house, she came in and stayed. She stayed through my toddlers’ needy afternoon snack hour, then through dinner, and only left shortly after I put the kids to bed. My extroverted heart was so full. 

She shared some truly personal things about her family history and how it has affected her present day. I thanked her for trusting me to tell me. It’s a treasure when friends are open about deep things. Toward the end of our time together I remarked how glad I was that she had come over, and she said, “I didn’t want to have to get dressed up, or spend money on dinner, or go to some event to be with friends. Today I needed a couch friend.”

I needed a couch friend.

She needed to feel accepted just as she was, uncovered by a yellow paper gown. Not fancy, just sweatpants and her whole heart. 

We find hope in places like this. Places where we are known and still loved. We are vulnerable and still safe and secure. 

If we are longing to grow deep roots in the Lord, community is the necessary soil our hearts need to thrive. 

Ellen understands this truth. Even as an introvert, she knows she’s created in the image of God who is a relational God. She is, by human nature, relational, and needs friendship and community to thrive. She and her husband have been intentional in their short time in town so far to cultivate life-giving relationships. 

But…sometimes this requires risk. She had to message me and ask to hang out. I could’ve said no. I could’ve rushed her out of the house and made her feel like an inconvenience. I could’ve rebuffed when she shared her heart with me and wounded her. But she risked that anyway. 

Relationships require risk. Healthy relationships grow trust in spite of the risk and become a place of safety, but starting at ground zero can be a scary place. Let’s take that risk anyway. Let’s reach out and be intentional to cultivate friendships. Let’s be the one who suggests to hang out. Let’s also be the one whose couch is a safe place. Let’s have open hearts to those who are different than us. Let’s help others feel welcome just as they are. Let’s be couch friends.

I held my breath as she spoke the words.

She said it out loud, the very thing I thought was unspeakable. I didn’t know you could admit that to a room of peers and live. As she told her story, her struggle, I couldn’t breathe. And then suddenly, I was energized. I was free. It was like I’d been given CPR and my heart and lungs were on fire with life.

“I did too.” I spoke. I shared a secret shame I’d never admitted before. And I admitted it all at once to a room full of friends. It felt scandalous, but somehow I knew I was safe.

If she could be real about the ugly, then so could I.

There’s something raw about someone welcoming you into their brokenness, into their mess. It reminds us that we are safe, no matter the circumstances. Their fearlessness calls to us to set our fears aside. We are free to choose connection over self-preservation.

If Vulnerability is the precious princess, then Self-Preservation is her ugly step-sister. She builds up walls and draws the curtains so no one can see that the house is a mess. Self-Preservation believes the lie, “I better get this right because it’s all up to me.” She can’t afford to fail because if she does, she’s doomed. She cannot let anyone know she’s not perfect, because then they’ll know the ugly truth that she’s been trying to hide: she’s not good enough. And so the step-sister compares and competes. She judges and justifies.

Staci Eldredge posed a question in her book, Captivating, that forever changed the way I think about vulnerability. 

“What if you have a genuine and captivating beauty that is marred only by your striving?”

A spirit at rest, a heart that believes in its own acceptance, is warmer than a summer sunbeam. Like light streaming through the window, it beckons you to come outside and play, full of wonder and awe. It’s absent of striving. It’s perfectly at rest. It is pure unadulterated beauty.

The voices of other’s opinions and the pressure of my own performance are quieted in the assurance of acceptance.

This is only possible when we believe that Jesus meant what He said when He breathed, “It is finished.” (see John 19:30) Our security, our place with Him in the Kingdom, our identity- it’s all settled. Our past has been forgiven, our present is provided for, and our future is secure. 

Here’s what Ephesians 1 says about our identity:

• We are accepted in the Beloved. 

• We are blessed with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places.

• We are chosen.

• We are holy and blameless

• We are adopted as children of God.

• We have redemption and forgiveness.

• We have grace lavished upon us.

• We have an inheritance that is guaranteed by the Holy Spirit Himself.
  

I’ve found that the more secure I am in who Jesus calls me to be, the more open I am with my humanity. I no longer need to hide, because it’s no longer about me. I can be open about my faults, my wounds, my guilt, my sin, my depravity, because it all points to my incredible overwhelming need for Jesus the King. And He calls me accepted. Loved. Redeemed. 

So the call is this.

It’s part of our job sisters, to be open about the places we need redemption. What if your fear of being seen is the very thing keeping someone else from meeting their answer? 

Our friends’ hearts are at stake. Our sisters, our daughters. They need to hear this message that they are free to be beautiful. They need our fearlessness to beckon them to set their fears aside.

Through the tapestry of vulnerability runs the gleaming thread of Jesus, the Answer. My need…and your need my friend, will always point us to Him.