Late-night conversations, for me, are the stuff that friendships are made of. You could talk about anything–music, sex, philosophy, dreams, love. As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. It feels beautiful, but painful and scary, to be invited into the life of a person, with the only thing asked in return being an invitation of your own. Donald Miller may have made being vulnerable cool, at least on paper, but the kind of stuff most people come up with is a sort of cheap vulnerability. You could confess your deepest, darkest secret without being truly vulnerable. There’s a difference between knowing about and actually knowing.
What kind of a machine is a man, that he stutters and starts and rattles when operating according to plan? To know and be known is what people were made for, yet to work according to design often seems the most difficult task of all.
The stretching of my heart continues. Three sizes too small may have been a conservative estimate.