“Roo” proudly peddled his new bike as fast as his little legs would allow. “Little” ran after him, arms swinging wildly as if this would increase her momentum. Then in one failed step, she was face down on the cold hard concrete. Her little hands, red and sore. Her blue jeans ripped, knees scraped and bruised. She lay there motionless, sobbing. I ran to the scene and scooped up her little body. She buried her face against me and sobbed as I cradled her. She did not try to hide her pain, her aching hands, the bruised knees, the need to be held and consoled. Her little body shook as tears streamed down her face.
Just as her body shook with sobs against me, her vulnerability at this moment prompted shaking in my heart. To be vulnerable, authentic with our pain, what does that really mean? Is it just the ability to admit my struggles, my wounds, my brokenness? If I open up and share my deepest fears for the future, my feelings of failure, my pains from my past, is that considered being real? Is it simply the willingness to lay my heart wide open to the darkness and doubt that lurks within? Perhaps. But what if that is only a portion of what it means to be authentic? As my granddaughter lay in my arms, completely and unashamedly expressing her pain, she glanced up into my eyes, seeking comfort.
What if true transparency is found not merely in the confessions of my sinful self, but in surrendering my brokenness to the Father? Am I willing to allow the Father to scoop me up, cradle me in His arms, and wipe the tears from my eyes? Am I willing to gaze into His face…and find hope? Authenticity will never be satisfied with only sharing the pain, but reaches for the hope…the hope in Him that says, “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning”- Psalm 30:5. For what is true transparency if it leaves hope behind? The world needs hope…we need hope.