I’ve been feeling vulnerable lately, for all kinds of reasons, some family, some personal, some societal (racism, looming fascism, economic inequality) some global (disastrous climate change, nukes aimed at us by Russia, and ever and always, Trump).

Vulnerable, an interesting word, part and parcel of the human condition:
vulnerable to love, vulnerable to hurt, vulnerable bodies, vulnerable
hearts (literal and symbolic), vulnerable spirits. From the Latin vulnus “wound.”

I’m finally waking up and learning to embrace my wounds (hopefully without
martyrdom and resentment as sidekicks) and learn the life lessons that
woundedness has to teach, such as courage, compassion, fortitude, and see
it as the gift given to assure that I know the truth that I am a wounded
human eternally loved by God who has shown God’s own loving vulnerability
in the wounded face of Jesus, the metaphorical incarnation of universal agape, self-sacrificial love.

I’ve preached it; I’m learning to own (hopefully without self-pity, another sidekick) it.

Yes, I have known it and to some measure owned it, but then there is fourth
sidekick that comes calling — denial.

We humans do so much to deny our vulnerability (our woundedness) hiding that
scared child behind the posturing face of invulnerability.

And to those sidekicks, who have been false friends for so long, I must say, “Bye, guys.”