"To love is to be vulnerable."
And sometimes, to be creative, too.
This is a piece I wrote a year ago, back when I worked a 9-5 and was dreaming of the day when I could quit to start my own creative business. After you finish reading, you’ll understand why that detail is important.
It was nearly 6pm. The sky was deep violet, and my colleague and I were the last two people in the office. I was stuck waiting for a video to load, so I wandered over to her desk.
“Oh good!” she said. “I’d been meaning to talk to you. I’m not sure why, but you felt like the right person to ask.”
She continued with a series of questions for me about a creative project she’d been considering. Questions like “How would I market it?” “Where should I start?” And finally, the same question that haunts me most days: “Would this even be valuable?”
I’m not flattering myself when I say that I’m still not sure why I was the person she wanted to ask – we work in different departments and have only the odd, casual conversation. And yet, as her questions poured out, so did my answers. Like I’d been waiting for someone to ask me this for centuries.
I went into a long Ted Talk about how the value of creating for creating’s sake has sometimes been lost on us in the West. How work itself existed before The Fall – work was cursed, but IT wasn’t THE curse (see Garden City by John Mark Comer for more thoughts on this). And how there is so much value in accepting the invitation from God to “do the thing” that’s on your heart and let yourself delight in work that brings a fresh, holy sense of what it means to “rule the earth and subdue it.”
Most days, if you asked me, I’d say that doing “that project” – whatever it may be – that has been burning at the edges of your mind is an act of communing with God in a deeply intimate way. Because if you accept His invitation to water a seed that He’s already planted in you, then you’re slowly discovering who you are as you watch that seed grow.
And yet, the act of “watering” – the act of giving life to an idea that is so exciting it almost hurts – feels deeply, harrowingly vulnerable.
I didn’t always believe as much. Although the feeling of not being enough is as ancient as anything else, the imposter syndrome and the “feel the fear and do it anyway” vibes are an acute side-effect of living in the digital shrines that we’ve built for ourselves in those tiny online squares. It almost seems abnormal not to question whether what we have is of any value to the world because gosh, who isn’t already doing the exact thing that we want to do?
Those creative questions are ones that many a coach or a blog post could help you sort out – but this post is not one of them.
When I think about my colleague’s question “Would this even be valuable?” I ask myself what “value” we’re really prepared to uncover? When we pursue something that’s been burning inside us, the value of it is not just in how it might serve the world (although service in itself is deeply valuable). The value is also in what we might discover about God, and ourselves, as with every step, we determine how much we trust Him. How much do we want to learn about just how beautiful this life can be?
If you’ve never had your heart broken by God (I know some people will think it’s sacrilege for me to even write that), then you might not understand how pursuing your dream is fraught with a kind of spiritual vulnerability which stains the fringes of your very identity. But if, like me, you’ve had a dream (and lost it), then you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.
Whether you want to write a book, or paint, or teach, or make a podcast, or build a house, or start a business, or bear a child, the very act of stepping out and starting is like saying to God: “Okay, you gave me this dream, and in spite of all the broken dreams that are still laying in ashes at my feet, I will trust you with this one. Show me who you are. Show me who I am.”
Sometimes I still ponder what love looks like in action, but this certainly feels like one example.
I truly believe that when you have a dream that feels as though it’s been woven into your very core, the question is not “Will it be valuable?” The question is “How much is my vulnerability worth to do it?” Is it worth the moments of pain? Of doubting yourself… and God? Of learning things about yourself which might feel ugly? Is it worth the rejection? The financial uncertainty? The “writer’s block”? The discipline?
If your answer to any of that is “No” or even “I’m not sure,” then well done for being honest. Because these questions sound romantic – until you’re living in the reality of them and suddenly your ears are ringing with the words “What have I done?”
For those whose broken hearts might still feel a little too raw to trust God with your dreams again, these might feel like cheap words. At one point not that long ago, they’d have felt cheap to me. But what I can say is this: to love is to be vulnerable. It’s a declaration of love in so many ways to say that your dreams and your joy are worth fighting for, your Creator is still worth trusting, and your life is worth a second (or third, or tenth) chance at good things. If love in all its ache and splendour is still a vital part of your foundations, then vulnerability must follow.
Whether my colleague realised just how loaded her question on value was, the journey of truly answering it is one she’ll have to walk one day. The value of following our passions is so much more than just whether or not other people like what we do. There is value in the sheer joy of doing it and not just dreaming about doing it.
So as we each step over the ashes of old dreams and light another match – even as the heat from the past burns our heels – we might just find ourselves in a sweet, familiar glow and appreciate the warmth all the more.
“Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable... To love is to be vulnerable.”
- C.S. Lewis
All my love,
