Live Exposed

Live Exposed 150 150 Sarah Rennicke

To live with an exposed heart takes the most terrifying courage.

Sitting in silence, inviting your heart to speak, takes a patience that tests your belief.

This is going to be so interesting. Cutting into the world that’s coming for me. Observing how it beats, how it fits beneath my skin. Becoming the scientist I never expected myself to be. Then again, what ever comes that we’ve prepped and planned for?

Life is anything but what we expect.

Dreams unglued, posters stripped from the walls of our hearts, crunched and cornered on the floor. The brittle battle of faith as I shake my head to clear the cobwebs that have stuck themselves between truth and trust. Unconscious letting go of what reason I’ve wrapped my brain around.

Where are the roadmaps between the gray, the shades that roam outside boundaries of black and white? What’s right, what’s only what I hope is right, and what I will never fully know?

To live with an exposed heart takes the most terrifying courage. @SRennAwake Click To Tweet

I want to hold myself upright and righteous. How I handle my thoughts, my actions, my heart, my head. I don’t want to cross any boundaries that God has set. Do I betray a long standing command and covenant by speaking what my heart longs to cry? How much can I say, how much do I hold back? Still the shadows dance so I cannot see. The only light that crosses my path is illumination of the hand of Jesus, strong and soft, reminder afire in His eyes that He has it all under control, that His sure grip holds fast to my trembling form.

Why do we put off the things that matter greatly to our hearts? The important, necessary and beating vials of memory and hope, healing and beauty? And why do we deaden ourselves to the small, ordinary wonder awakening before and around us?

Look up. This your life. Please don’t miss it because you’re still grabbing on to what you once thought was best.

What I want both breaks and stretches my heart. The two take turns, tiny rips that strengthen me, flush out the false pretenses and slow my breathing. Deep, even inhale, leading through my nostrils, trails across my tongue to leave my lips. Be still and know.

In the slow untethering of my tangled heart, I allow my rioting body to lean in and let my weight be held. Welcome the chaos, choosing not to take my eyes off of the Father. This leads me forward with newfound strength I would never know I possessed unless I went through the strain.

Look up. This your life. @SRennAwake Click To Tweet

Keep holding out that battered heart. Keep one breath coming, and then another. Keep waking each day with a willingness to walk around this earth with soul exposed. It is a constant offering of laying its contents and beating appendages in God’s hands, a fight to freedom, into the gray.

Again the courage to un-grip the hold on the familiar. Paralyzing but paramount to move.

Slip my eyelids low to brush my lashes along the delicate skin of my cheeks. Dusting trust from first Spirit to mine, right into the heart of my humanness. Stay still and know. Take time to test the water, ease my way into the infinite. Unwrap my chest, examine the lines that lead to fearlessness. The chance that just might be may indeed become mine.

This waiting, this heart-open hope, is not what I planned, but I have to trust that it is taking me somewhere. Live exposed, skin and soul, bone and breath. Begin again with each heartbeat, that incredulous mystery made to bring me life- black, white, anywhere in between.

Sarah Rennicke

Sarah Rennicke loves words. She also loves people. And she loves weaving them together in honest and vulnerable ways. She loves slowing down and listening to the heartbeats of this world, exploring the hidden hopes and deepest fears tucked away in souls. She believes that God created imagination to truly see His handiwork, and that we are all desiring to be seen, known, and loved.

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  • Sarah, I admire your courage to expose thoughts and emotions that most would rather stuff to the farthest recesses of our minds, like a fading dream when morning comes. Your writing gives us permission to linger in deep waters without the fear of being swept away.

  • Thanks, Beckie! You expressed that so beautifully. 🙂 Like I said, it’s a terrible courage, but courage nonetheless that we must take, right? So grateful for your encouragement and to be on this journey with you.