I hide behind humor. It shields me. If people are laughing, they are happy and if I’m the one being funny they think I’m happy too. This gives me a very comfortable space. I feel safely sheltered from the possibility that others will inquire too deeply, get too close, see the ugly and the truth. Humor is the one vice that sufficiently numbs. So, I keep it funny. It feels (mostly) better. I know this is dangerous, isolating. By keeping those around me at a safe distance, I’m swallowed up by the same defense I use to hide. It folds in on me like a towering ocean wave and I struggle to breathe until I hit the shore, again.

Life is mostly not funny. Life is daily. Life is a repetitive synchronized dance of sameness. I’m learning to be brave. I’m learning to drop my shield allowing the beautiful imperfection to change me. Because life can be a wondrous mess. And sarcasm is a cheap personality trait. I’ve handed over my shield to the One who can hold it and I no longer fear, I no longer hide the mess or the ugly. I see now that this might mean some people walk away. Perhaps part of being brave is graciously watching them go. I’ll cling tightly to the resolute power of Christ’s healing, I’ll let it wash over me and cleanse me whole.

I think, sometimes, bravery comes with a price and age, time, learning… it affords the cost.