Broken. It’s the word I use the most when people ask me who I am.
I’m a mess, really. Memories linger, but with little time to process them. Laundry abounds. Dinner calls. I’m often short-tempered. I’m often frustrated by things that carry no eternal significance.
The Liar is tricky. He whispers “What do you have to offer? Look how broken you are.” And yes I am. I must confess. I often have more questions than answers.
I wonder. Will my children be broken like I am broken? In my heart I know they will. Because, really, we’re all broken. That’s why we need a Savior. We do the best we can, in our brokenness. I have found myself crying out to God as I carry the weight of the “what ifs” in life … and I must daily learn (again) to yield to God what I cannot control.
I make the mistake of scanning Facebook. More things that remind me. We.Are.Broken. I try not to feel overwhelmed. There is much to do. Much that my heart aches for in this broken world.
In my brokenness, I’m learning to see something beautiful. I’m learning that being broken is its own kind of beautiful. Being broken means that I don’t have to struggle with the pain of perfectionism (although I still sometimes do.)
Being broken provides a freedom all it’s own—because there can be no glass houses for broken people. No need to compare brokenness. After all, we are all broken the same. Different kinds of broken—but still broken.
Being broken means I am in need of constant repair—and so I find myself at the feet of the One who heals—again.
There is strength there.
My husband touches my hand. He tells me (again) me how cherished I am.
He reminds me that our children will learn from our brokenness. I love this strong, gentle man. He is a gift. Part of my healing. He tempers me.
I need that. … You too?
Broken people carry a beauty all their own. And broken people who know they have been redeemed—bought with a price—are radiant with a light that transcends the pain of this life.
Very little in this life compares to the beauty the comes from brokenness. The beauty that comes from ashes —is available to me. And you.
As the news plays in the background, and the weight of this life threatens to overwhelm, I claim the gift of brokenness. I claim it to find healing, and peace. I claim it for the one thing I cannot find without being broken. I claim it for grace. I claim it today, again.
Grace in my brokenness — healing.
Praise the Lord.