Jesus you change everything.

This morning, I had my ear buds in and a particular song cranked up to 40 on my iPhone.  I was fully engaged in the moment when I had this thought:
Bravery rarely comes in the loud moments we proclaim it.  Bravery comes when we lay our heads down and declare that we will not be insomniacs to our fears, our anxieties, our trepidations, or the thoughts of others.  Bravery comes in the moment when we kind of say “screw it!” and run with abandon knowing that it could fail historically, but if God’s grace if even a smidge like we know it, then our foundation and our core tells us that being brave and walking tall is where HE gets all the glory and we get to see the magnitude of God.  
I think there are a lot of Christians who can easily throw their hands up on Sunday morning.  We worship wild.  We surrender.  We proclaim.  We go, on this spiritual high, to lunch and profess what God has done for us and how we will be free/better/different.  
And then {we} stay stuck for months and years because real bravery requires more than we are prepared to give.  
It requires more than I am prepared to give.  More than I am comfortable to sacrifice.

Last night, after a dinner I cooked for some friends, I overshared.  (Hi, my name is Jenn and my spiritual gift is gab and oversharing.) I had prefaced one of my guests with the following disclaimer in a text: “I’d rather tell you this story in person and I understand if you completely run for the hills afterward.”
The actuality is that the last thing I want this person to do is run for the hills.  I don’t want any of my friends to run for the hills because, HELLUR, that clearly defeats the purpose of friendship and accountability and love.  
But the strangest thing about last night was that after my friends left, I wasn’t scared that I overshared.  
I did not lay awake for hours wondering if last night was the last time I would have dinner with them, or be open and share, or laugh.
I did not have bad dreams about them abandoning me, saying horrible things about me, or thinking that I’m a completely deranged fruit loop that needs to get her life together and possibly therapy.    
I’m a realist, so generally these things are THE things that plague me -- that make me want to send (or actually send) some sort of corrective action text that is basically me begging for my friends to not abandon me and love me in my crazy.  I’ve been known to buy dinner for a friend out of that guilt and anguish because: PLEASE LOVE ME AND DON’T DITCH ME BECAUSE I SEEM EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE AND SAY ALLLL THE THINGS AND I NEED YOUR FRIENDSHIP.  
My twenties were an incredibly healthy time, can’t you tell?  Also, WHY am I not married?  These are the mysteries of the world. 
{insert head slap emoji}
I keep coming to the realization that I have spent far too long offering some kind of disclaimer about myself to others.  I come with more warning stickers than a mattress or a hairdryer.  I’m becoming fully aware of the shame that I cultivated in my own head and in my own heart that says I am not enough in nearly every facet of my life.
Because I have never been truly brave enough. 
The devil is a liar.

Jesus, you changed everything.