To be fully known, yet loved

I’ve heard it said that you can only be loved to the extent in which you are known. 

Well if that’s not the scariest sentence I’ve ever heard…

But I do believe it to be true.

Still, to let one in—to be fully known, flaws and all—well, that’s hard. My family moved quite a bit when I was growing up. And let me tell you, nothing makes you an all-star at making friends like moving every few years. The trouble is, it’s easy to make friends, but then you have to be friends. Being friends means, among other things, putting down your guard and showing yourself as you truly are.

Oh bother, see that’s a problem for me. I would really prefer for people to see me as a charming, laid-back extrovert who likes to drink coffee and go to the flea market. While some of those traits are true (the charming thing is definitely debatable), what’s also true is this: I’m often pretty darn boring, many Saturdays I watch Netflix from sun-up to sun-down, and sometimes I feel alone, weird, and unlovable.

Could someone truly love me if they knew how unspectacular I am?

Oh insecurity, you’re a cruel beast. Thankfully, I’ve lived long enough to know I’m not alone in this struggle. We all have our things.

Still, I don’t want to just make friends; I want to be friends. I want to be accepted when I am loud and fun…and also when I am quiet and reserved. And you know what? I don’t think that kind of friend is terribly hard to find. I think the greater challenge is accepting myself when I’m not the Kat Williamson I think I should be.

Lest you feel sorry for me, I do actually know what it feels like to be fully known, yet loved. Namely, because I’m friends with the best, Jesus Christ. There’s no hiding with Him, and still, no shame. That kind of love is powerful. I am a big fan of the hymn In Christ Alone, and I’m particularly fond of the line, “No guilt in life, no fear in death, this is the power of Christ in me.” See? A powerful kind of love.

So here’s to loving and being loved—a risk worth taking.



(Listening to “The Wine We Drink” by Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors)

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