When God Asks for Vulnerability

There comes a moment when God stops asking us to be strong and starts asking us to be honest.

Because I have not trusted God to speak or the knowledge He already placed in me, I found myself sitting with God, circling the same questions again. Where are these books He has placed in my heart supposed to go? What’s supposed to happen next? What does He want from me in the future?

For those of us shaped by a shame-based life, hesitation feels familiar. Shame usually whispers, rarely shouts. It convinces us we are not enough for the task God has given us, so we sabotage ourselves quietly. We fill our schedules with distractions. We take on responsibilities not ours. We convince ourselves we need more preparation, more research, more confirmation, even when we already know our calling.

Shame also distorts success. We take a step forward, experience growth, and then freeze. Often, we do not even realize we stopped moving, because the fear lives in an inner wounded child whose always required protection. That child learned early visibility can be dangerous. Success can attract attention. Attention can bring pain.

So, we ask God questions that sound spiritual but are rooted in fear. What do You want from me? How strong do You think I am?

For a long time, I carried a fear God would send me somewhere extreme. Places defined by violence, suffering, and chaos. I told myself I was just a Montana girl. A woman with a disability. How would I survive? Who would go with me? So instead, I stayed where I was and did the work in front of me. And I still do, but with a new attitude. Some of it is beautiful. Some of it is dangerous. But I know I am covered by the blood of the Lamb, so I keep showing up.

Still, seasons change.

Every new assignment from God feels like moving. We walk through the rooms of our minds, sorting memories, trauma, coping mechanisms, and beliefs. We try to decide what to pack and what to leave behind. The problem is, God rarely tells us where the next house is. Without that information, we begin to imagine. We fantasize about what God might be doing, and those imagined futures often look very different from His actual invitation.

The anointing I once carried to spend long hours in homeless camps is shifting. Compassion remains. Obedience remains. But the form of the work is changing. And change, even holy change, carries grief. That grief easily turns into shame when we begin idealizing the past or the future and then judge ourselves for not being there yet.

Vision awakens fear.

I know this personally. The idea of traveling on airplanes brings my body right back to pain. One flight marked me deeply. That experience became the story my nervous system remembers. But four out of five flights were fine. Yet shame and pain allow one memory to outweigh all the others. It says, Better not try. Better stay safe.

As a child, I subconsciously always knew where the exits and hiding places were, places like closets, cabinets, and woodsheds stacked just right so no one could see me. I just knew I needed a way out. Decades later, the behavior looks different, but the instinct remains. Avoidance. Numbing. Staying busy so I do not have to contemplate what God may be asking of me.

When I told Him all this, God shifted the conversation.

He did not condemn me. He invited me. The assignment is changing. My time will be spent more in quiet obedience than visible action. He assured me it is alright to grieve what is ending. But shame can turn grief into fear, fear into fantasy, and fantasy into paralysis.

Charles Swindoll reminds us, that when we develop the” value of vulnerability,” we realize everything is gained and nothing lost by merely admitting the truth. Vulnerability is often misunderstood. Vulnerability is the acknowledgment that we are fully human. We make mistakes. And when we do, we take responsibility without hiding.

God is not asking us to expose ourselves to harm. He is asking us to stop protecting ourselves from Him. After all, Scripture tells us, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). That closeness requires openness. Not courage. Not perfection. Just truth.