Quotes about Vulnerability

Sometime in my ministry, I am going to gather up enough courage to have a testimony time where the only thing we'll share is our failures.

Most of us learn to trust, not because we're noble, brave, or godly, and certainly not because we have it together, but when we don't have any other choice.

When you give voice to your fear, when you expose it, as vulnerable as that makes you, you give others the same permission. You give them courage to believe there's more to life than cowering. You give hope. And my guess is, when you tackle your inner fears, you will eventually tackle what's hold you back from who God intended you to be. Your fears lead you to who you really are.

If you've ever had a friend who cares enough about you to get down in the dirt and roll around, to cry and laugh and shovel the manure of life, you'll know how I felt when Ruthie leaned forward. I still get shivers thinking about her words and how true they were. How true they are.

When you give voice to your fear, when you expose it, as vulnerable as that makes you, you give others the same permission. You give them courage to believe there's more to life than cowering. You give hope. And my guess is, when you tackle your inner fears, you will eventually tackle what's holding you back from who God intended you to be. Your fears lead you to who you really are.

I would like to be called an inspiration to people, not a role model - because I make mistakes like everybody else. When I'm offstage, I'm just like everybody else.

Here I am not the one to throw out. No one steals my warmth and shoes because I am small. No one handles my backside. No one whinnies like sheep or goat because I drop in fear and weakness. No one screams at the sight of me. No one watches my body for how it is unseemly. With you my body is pleasure is safe is belonging. I can never not have you have me.

More than fear of loving bears or birds bigger than cows, I fear pathless nights. How, I wonder, can I find you in the dark?

Nobody loved her and she wouldn't have liked it if they had, she considered love a serious disability.

A child. New life. Immune to evil or illness, protected from kidnap, beatings, rape, racism, insult, hurt, self-loathing, abandonment. Error-free. All goodness. Minus wrath. So they believe.

Risky, thought Paul D, very risky. For a used-to-be-slave woman to love anything that much was dangerous, especially if it was her children she had settled on to love. The best thing, he knew, was to love just a little bit; everything, just a little bit, so when they brok its back, or shoved it in a croaker sack, well, maybe you'd have a little love left over for the next one.

She was one of the few things abhorrent to him that he could touch and therefore hurt. He poured out on her the sum of all his inarticulate fury and aborted desires. Hating her, he could leave himself intact.