With no moon in the sky, the stars were brilliant. I could see the Milky Way- not something I am ever able to glimpse at home. But it was dark, and predators had been sighted recently. By myself and in a new place, I wasn’t sure where I was going, and had to trust my quickly-losing-power iPhone flashlight to guide me. Only able to see a few feet in front of me, I was looking for the fire pit, and trying not to get too lost. Or eaten.

Last weekend I was with 70 other HIGH quality men who were not hesitant to dig into each others stories, mourn each other’s pain, and revel in each other’s God-given glory. The brotherhood there was incredible to observe and take part in. I usually come home from retreats and conferences exhausted. Late nights, good conversations, deep insights – these are (almost) always great, offering helpful and refreshing connection with God, with myself, and with other men.

A mountain top experience? I suppose so. And often literally in the mountains.

But today, the hangover. Don’t get me wrong- I wanted to come home. My wife and kids are incredible, and I missed them dearly. And my own bed is lightyears more comfortable. But as my heart has been opened on the mountain top, I am more vulnerable to the evil fingers of shame and fear. They start their work quickly. Fear of loneliness. Fear of not being seen. Shame over those fears, and shame over being needy. Shame over having desire, and fear that it will go unfulfilled. The predator of anxiety lurks. It’s tempting to resort to stuffing it all down, put my nose to the grindstone, and closing my heart back up.

Instead, for now, I find myself again stumbling through the dark. I’m trying to have conversations with God and shine light on the vulnerability I’m feeling, all the while listening for his goodness towards me, and trying to offer that goodness to my own self.

“It’s good to want connection. And when you feel missed, you will be ok. I will be with you. I see you.”

Truth be told, my energy for that kind of containment are limited- at least on behalf of myself. I’ve long walked the path of exerting the strength God has given me on behalf of others, but to allow (and even encourage) myself to depend on his strength for myself has been a narrower, less worn path, with low light and predators on the prowl.

Jesus talks about finding that space in Matthew 11:25-29.

“At that time Jesus prayed this prayer: “O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, thank you for hiding these things from those who think themselves wise and clever, and for revealing them to the childlike. Yes, Father, it pleased you to do it this way!

…Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”

The more I try to be clever and leverage my own ‘yoke’ to fulfill myself, the more twisted up I get. The more I practice resting in the Father’s face and embrace, the more rest I experience.

The issue is the “Come to me” part of the whole thing. That requires keeping my heart open, and walking in places that feel wild and new. It feels risky. Often it’s so dark I can’t see where I’m going, and just have to trust him. Stumbling seems inevitable. But that is the invitation.

Courage is required, and to be courageous, I have to practice. Practice noticing when I’m starting to feel distress. Practice being curious about where that anxiety is coming from- what am I needing and afraid of? Practice offering myself the kindness by allowing myself to be vulnerable and trust in God’s goodness, rather than my own yoke.

How do you need to practice courage on your own behalf? What seeks to keep your heart closed?

What might it look like for you to take the risk of resting in the face and embrace of the Father today?

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Cody Buriff, Director of Resource Initiatives