Deep Waters

I sat on a dimly lit stage. I’d just finished giving a message titled You Are Enough. That particular night, I’d stressed the importance of how we were designed to be known through the vulnerability of sharing our story. I then opened up the stage to any woman who wanted to share how God had made an impact on her that weekend.

It was an invitation to be known in whatever way their souls longed.

One by one, brave women stepped onto the platform and found a seat on the couch next to me. I marveled as they opened their mouths and allowed the breath of their confessions to echo through the microphone.

For most of us, it’s comfortable to slip into the pattern of sharing about a struggle only after it’s resolved and our testimony can be told from our spot on the opposite shore. It’s easier that way, isn’t it? To be where victory has been won and share the beautiful way it all worked out?

Just as a fairy tale ending tends to make us feel warm and fuzzy, we also like to hear about how someone else’s personal struggle was resolved. But what about the middle part? The part where the tension of difficulty stretched and challenged them? Many of us are more comfortable when others hide what they’re currently wrestling with, rather than asking us to walk them through their battles in deep waters.

That night, though, these women talked about battles that had not yet been won. Battles they were fighting hard to work through. They shared raw grief, loss, heartache, deep sin patterns, rebellion, pain, embarrassing habits, depression, and other personal challenges that made tears glisten on the cheeks of every woman in the room.

We cried because a glimpse of someone’s embattled soul is one of the greatest gifts we can receive. We all hunger for the soul-quenching feeling of someone holding our hand and walking next to us through the battle rhythms of life, of knowing they are less concerned about pushing us forward and more about standing by us and allowing God to do the work.

Substance like that is what a meaningful friendship is built upon.

Superficial relationships and the facade of being put together do not birth love and freedom. Most of us know deep down that in order for us to grow and flourish in this life, we need people who are less concerned about getting us to the other side of the battle and more concerned with walking through it with us. There’s a big difference between pulling people along and walking beside them. The difference feels like love versus judgment. It feels like breath versus suffocation. It feels like grace versus impatience. It feels like freedom versus chains.

My tendency in the past has been to put all my energy into fixing other people’s pain and pushing them through their battles because it hurts too much to see them struggle. But by God’s grace I’ve learned we can push, we can pull, or we can support, but we can’t do all three at one time. We weren’t made to. Only God can bring the true healing and restoration and peace we each need. He gave us each other to walk through the battle together.

With each brave woman who took the microphone that night, I saw the invisible thread of vulnerability weaving us together. No one needed to provide answers or make everything feel right again. No one stood up and declared she could fix the pain or take the burden, hold back the waters or carry someone to the other shore.

Instead, we cried together. We laughed together. We prayed that God would carry us through. We sympathized instead of trying to fix problems. We loved without handing out empty promises. We held hands and chose to enter the deep waters with each other.

True relationships aren’t built only on the shore. True relationships are built in the million tiny moments between those shores, in the deep waters.

Chelsia Checkal is an unashamed dreamer living on grace. A recovering legalist erring on the side of love. A coffee indulger who’d delight in meeting you at a quaint cafe to talk real-life. A messy mom, wife, and free-spirited Jesus girl whose life sings a story of redemption, freedom and hope. Chelsia blogs at movewithhim.blogspot.com.