A few months ago, I had to go to the courthouse. I despise going there, even if its just for jury duty. This particular occasion was for something more personal, something that pulls at my heart strings. Odds were high I’d walk out in tears and would be ready to drive back home and seek solace.
A dear, dear friend lives close to the courthouse. She’s just far enough away that I don’t get to see her often. And so, the internal pull: call her up and see if I could swing by after visiting the magistrate or play it safe and plan my safe retreat.
The battle continued, even as I talked to her on my drive to court. “I have no idea what shape I’ll be in once its over,” I said. “I’m not entirely sure you’ll even want me over.”
“Oh, Stacy, just come as you are.”
And so I did. I went to see Nancy once the court thing was over. We drank coffee. Shared. Laughed. Prayed. It was the very thing my heart most needed. I left her place refreshed and renewed. And I almost missed it all because I knew too well I didn’t have my act together.
But here’s what I really would have missed: the startling revelation that I can come. Just. As. I. Am.
There are days or sometimes long periods in which I have nothing to give, or so I feel. The court thing and other crazy stuff in life drain me and I long for solace, or perhaps for others to pour into me. But give? That’s a hard thing when you’re depleted.
Yet people like Nancy have taught me to still come. When I do, I walk away richer. They say they do, too (which blows my mind since I can’t fathom how a nothing-filled girl can give. Kudos to the One who keeps filling me, over and over and over).
But I’d be amiss if this lesson just taught me to be more comfortable letting my friends see the unkempt side (okay, sides!!) of me, for the value is so much greater.
I’m learning to do it with God, too. I can almost hear him chuckle much like Nancy did and say, “Stacy, remember that you almost didn’t show up because you thought you’d be a mess? I’m so glad you’re here.” And speaking of mess, I am! Sometimes my friends see it, sometimes my kids bear witness to it, sometimes its the cops who were at the scene of my Bubba’s accident and were more concerned about me, the one not involved in the accident, than Gabe or my mom. Yes, that’s me. A beautiful mess.
God sees it, too. In fact, He created me and somehow adores those parts of me. And so I come.
What about you? Are you willing to let others see you even when you’re not at your best? What about your relationship with God? Do you only run to him when you’re depleted, or perhaps you do the opposite and stay at bay until you think you’re good enough to come?