So David got away and escaped to the Cave of Adullam. When his brothers and others associated with his family heard where he was, they came down and joined him. Not only that, but all who were down on their luck came around—losers and vagrants and misfits of all sorts…There were about four hundred in all. (I Samuel 22:1-2, The Message)

Last week I wrote a rebuttal of sorts to an article a pastor wrote about church attendance, and I included some of my own experiences. I shared my post on my personal Facebook wall, as I’ve always done, but wasn’t prepared at all for some of the responses. I watched my notifications pop up for a solid hour as one person went down my page making snarky comments on quite a few items, then promptly unfriended me. In addition, there were other unfriendings, some criticism and indirect personal attacks.

This isn’t the first time this has happened as a result of something I’ve written. I’ve had my fair share of criticism over the last three years, but last week’s probably hit me the hardest. Maybe I wasn’t quite as prepared to write about my experiences with the church as I thought…maybe there’s still too much hurt.

So I went to my cave: silence.

I couldn’t write. The negative voices have been playing on repeat in my head, followed by this question: What if they’re right? But that’s what shame does. It causes second-guessing. It silences the wounded and hurting. It creates fear.

But I keep coming back to the verses about David escaping to the Cave of Adullam for refuge. I love the description of the people who joined him: all who were down on their luck…losers and vagrants and misfits of all sorts.

In my silence, several people came to my cave of refuge to encourage me, to let me know I’m not alone. They had experienced similar woundings and hurts. Some of them had been shamed and silenced. I was overwhelmed with the kindness of strangers and friends alike.

In my cave, the best kind of losers and vagrants and misfits gathered with me because they understood what I was feeling.

You know what I realized? These are my people…the ones with whom I most closely identify, the ones for whom I write. They know what it is to be broken, wounded, silenced, shamed, rejected, abandoned. Some are on the other side of the healing process, and some are not. Either way, they were Jesus-with-skin to me last week.

I’ve gathered courage, and am taking a few steps out of my cave today. I fill the page with words while I try to get comfortable again with vulnerability…because this is what I do. I step out into the world and expose my heart and the way God works in it. Sometimes it’s just not pretty or socially acceptable. It’s not pleasing to the religious crowd.

The criticism and attacks? I expect them to come again. And I expect I’ll run back to my cave for refuge to hear the stories of those who gather there. Stories of grace and mercy. Stories of healing. Stories of beauty from ashes. Stories of acceptance in unlikely places.

And when I’ve been strengthened by those stories, I’ll step back out again and continue to share my own.