stand by me.

I was off today. I spent the greater part of the day in the company of a beloved woman, picking her brain for wisdom, advice, and insight. I have not seen Barb in almost exactly one year. I saw her on my way to Connecticut before I helped plan my Sister's wedding, and before Oregon, and before China. It's crazy how fast a year goes and how incredibly intense everything was that I had to update. A break up story or two, a dysfunctional parent, boundaries, embracing motherhood in China, tackling long time battles: and winning, starting a new job, deciding its time to move on from that job 8 months later... the highs and lows of being treated for a syndrome which will not kill me, but does drive me absolutely crazy... and mostly: how much I have known so tenderly and honestly the love of the Savior.

I was told some hard and valid truths about some relationships that I continue to struggle with understanding honorable boundaries, and safety nets. I can celebrate that I have become someone who can be led, and isn't always operating out of a fierce combative and defensive stance.

I listened. I talked. I left challenged and loved. It was divine.

Then I got in my car.

Mandy called. I had just gotten my iced coffee and two munchkins. We caught up a little bit and then I sort of went off. I couldn't help but just cry a little bit.

One thing that Barb said that struck a cord was that relationships are meant to provide vulnerability and accountability.

I love people. But one thing that I have to fight for, is to be open and vulnerable about my heart and what I'm struggling with. I learned from a young age that I'm not often made a priority by those who should have loved me differently. It is my greatest insecurity and worry that I am a burden. I won't call sometimes because I just don't want to pester someone. I don't often ask for a place to stay if I'm in town, because I don't want to impose on someone else' space. I don't talk about my life first, because I think somewhere its more important to be the one who asks and listens always. I have to fight myself to get to a place where I can openly and freely speak. And keep talking.

When I start spilling, there is always a moment in which I panic in the vulnerability and I apologize. For rambling, for crying, for talking in circles, for not making sense. There is one person in my life that has handled me gracefully and with a lot of patience in that place. Whenever I start back tracking or getting freaked out by myself, their response was always consistent, "Its ok. Keep going."

The invitation was always there. It meant more then "keep rambling", it meant, "you are getting to the heart of the matter. I will wait with and for you to get there." It always meant, "I will stand by you." Sometimes I wish that I could carbon copy that part of that person I can be so authentic with and create bits and pieces of them everywhere. It has been a rarity to find someone who can listen, love, and pull out so much of my heart so effortlessly.

We need relationships because we need accountability. We need relationships because we need vulnerability. We need these two things. We need them but we hate them. We hate being honest about how we are more then, "good and fine". We need them so much it hurts us when we avoid them.

In growing up and changing and maturing and evolving I know that my feelings matter, my journey matters, and the hidden deep part of my heart that doesn't always embrace its strength- deserves to win over the insecurity and doubt.

I recently was talking to someone about the way that they've handled some truly difficult things in their life. I was trying with delicacy and tenderness to call out behavior that had been hurtful, and that they've changed. I missed the old them. I didn't know the new them. The new them had hurt me. The old them had disappeared. I told them that at some point in the journey they stopped communicating. Period.

Their response, "Talking about it doesn't change it."

My heart.

Sunk.

I saw someone I knew. I saw someone I used to be, in who they had become. I saw the reflection of a girl that could not talk about her feelings, and so her feelings buried her. They buried me alive.

I said to this person whom I've loved and cared for so much, for so long, "talking about it might change 'it', but not talking about it changes YOU."

It was like reaching out a lifeline, an empathetic whisper, 'please come to the surface. please come back to me.'

We all want someone to come in and hold our hands while we fall apart.

We all want someone to wipe tears from our face with tenderness and grace.

We all want to screw up and be forgiven.

We all want to be pursued and protected.

We all want to talk and be heard.

We all want to be wanted and needed.

We all want someone to stand by us for a lifetime.

But to have all of that, we first need to be in relationships that matter, that have substance, that wound and scar us, and lead us to healing in Christ. We all have to be vulnerable for the accountability and we all have to be in relationship for that to happen.

I am struggling with some core issues regarding this topic right now. And because I know that talking about it, doesn't necessarily change the person or people I am specifically struggling with-- I know sincerely that who I've become cannot die to the behaviors of my past which have hurt me and others. But. The bratty spoiled brat little kid that I am says it is too hard, and I want to hide until the rain passes. Until the clouds clear. Until it looks safe outside again.

Today in tears I explained my doubt and my cynicism with Mandy. I told her what I know it stems from. She agreed it was time to get out of the situation and break free.

She in one moment took my hand, wiped a tear, pursued and protected me, heard my heart, wanted to be my friend, and chose to stand by me. For a lifetime. Just like Barb did for the hours I spent in her company this afternoon. Because relationships matter. I need them. And with these two women today, I was able to see with crystal clarity: that I am worth it, and that I am not alone. ever.