Honesty That Shapes Us

I was sitting at my desk recently when a coworker honestly and lovingly shared something she had noticed in me. She was gently reminding me of who I am by calling out the way I was acting. It came from a good place, yet it still sent me spiraling.  

She doesn’t think I’m perfect? 
She recognizes I have things to work on? 
She sees flaws in me? 

Her words weren’t harsh or unkind, but they landed with weight. Honesty coming from someone who knows you well can sometimes feel heavy. 

That is the beautiful and sometimes uncomfortable reality of spending forty hours a week with the same person. You don’t just share a workspace; you share real life. We share stories, laughter, and real struggles, and over time the personal and professional naturally blend together. 

Over the past year at Timberline, my coworker Ana has become one of my closest friends. We talk about everything, from projects we’re working on, to the date I went on last week, to the way we grew up, to the new boots she ordered, to what we think God is teaching us right now. She isn’t someone who tosses out a quick “How are you?” and moves on. She pays attention. She follows up. She notices what’s happening beneath the surface.

She wants to know me. 

Friendship like that is rare. It takes time, trust, and vulnerability. And it sometimes hurts, because when someone truly knows you, they see things you may not want to face. They notice patterns that need to change, fears that hold you back, and habits that don’t match who you want to become. Good friends don't ignore those things. They bring them up gently and honestly, not to shame you, but to help you grow. 

I think most of us desire community. We want friends who know us, who show up for us, and who walk through life with us. But real community doesn’t grow in surface-level conversations or perfectly curated interactions. It grows through honesty, courage, and a willingness to be seen. It forms when we let people into the parts of our lives we’d rather hide.

As much as I value a friend like Ana, I’m also aware of how quickly I can put my walls back up. I tell myself I’m already self-aware, that I don’t need accountability, that I’ve already critiqued myself enough for everyone. But the truth is, being known by others is different from self-reflection. There is something powerful about having someone step into your story, not to criticize, but to care, and to call you higher. 

In Mark 2, we see a moment that captures the heart of community in a compelling way. This passage tells the story of a group of friends who bring a paralyzed man to meet Jesus. Jesus is teaching inside a house so crowded that no one else can enter. But these friends refuse to give up. They carry their friend across town, climb onto the roof, open it, and lower him right in front of Jesus. 

The man literally could not get to Jesus on his own. He needed his friends in the most practical and obvious way. 

And his friends didn’t hesitate. They didn’t say, “You should handle this on your own,” or “We don’t want to get involved.” They carried him. They broke through barriers. They stayed even when the situation became complicated. They did the hard thing for their friend. 

The passage says that Jesus saw their faith. Not only the faith of the man on the mat, but the faith of the friends who brought him. Their belief carried him when he could not walk. Their effort made a difference in his story. 

We all need that. I need people who will carry me when I’m weak. People who will not leave me lying on my mat. People who help me get to Jesus when I’m too tired or overwhelmed or tangled in my own thoughts to get there myself. 

And I need people who will say the hard things, even when it feels uncomfortable. 

This is the beauty of Jesus-centered community. It’s encouragement, yes, but it’s also more. It’s not just fun memories, inside jokes, or someone to grab coffee with—though those things are such gifts. Real biblical community goes deeper.

It looks like honesty that shapes us. 
It looks like carrying each other’s burdens. 
It looks like being fully known and still fully loved. 
It looks like choosing to stay when stepping back would be easier. 
It looks like lifting one another up, even when it costs something. 
It looks like helping each other look more like Jesus. 

I imagine my conversation with Ana was a little uncomfortable for her, too. She could have stayed quiet to avoid awkwardness. That would have been easier for both of us. But she cared more about who I am becoming than about avoiding an awkward moment.

We were never meant to follow Jesus alone. From the beginning of Scripture to the end, God forms His people in community. Even Jesus didn’t walk through life alone. He shared meals, traveled with friends, prayed with others, and invited people into both His miracles and His grief. He modeled a life deeply connected with others. 

I’m learning that the most meaningful relationships are not the ones that avoid hard conversations. They’re the ones where truth and grace live together. Where honesty is understood as an act of love. Where both people can say, “That was hard to hear, but I’m grateful you said it.”

So, if you have friends who speak honestly into your life, thank God for them. If you have people who see your strengths and your blind spots and are brave enough to speak up, treasure that. If you have someone who cares enough to ask how you really are, cherish them. 

And if you don’t have that yet, I encourage you to begin praying for it. Look for one person you can start showing up for. Take a small risk. Ask a real question. Join a group. Grab coffee with someone. Let a trusted person into how you are actually doing. Choose honesty. Deep community is not built overnight, but moment by moment. 

We all need people who will carry us to Jesus, and we all need to be that kind of friend for someone else. This is the kind of friendship God calls us to. This is the kind of community that’s worth it.

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