Sunday, February 12, 2017

For the Days When You Are Surrounded By Brokenness.....

I've witnessed brokenness today.
Lately, it seems I see it all around me.
If I open the news home page on the computer {which I purposely don't do very much any more}, it's there.
If I pay attention at all when I leave my house, I see it.
Sadly, in my home, with my own family, I feel it.

This morning started with someone sharing a broken heart.
I felt as if the hurting one might split apart from the pain.
I moved to teaching time, and in between songs and lessons and words of correction, I saw it staring back at me from the eyes of adults and children alike.
While home this afternoon, I had to deal with my children, little hearts and minds being guided by broken, sinful ideals.
Tonight, I witnessed a beating.
Yes, because sometimes here I get to see brokenness not in the uncomfortable ways that I can shut my heart and eyes to, but in it's most raw, savage forms.
Brokenness so immense that I can't hide from it.
I feel as if I might shatter.

In the past weeks and months I've sat and listened to story after story.
Women who feel as if others have broken them.
Mamas who want to love their babies well, yet feel so inadequate, so broken that they can't fulfill their duties.
Ladies who want to do right, but feel is if all they can ever do is mess up.
Others posing their questions, or shouting their anger, or spewing their hatred online, trying to cover up their pain and brokenness by wearing their self-made armor.

The brokenness cuts deeply, and I've asked myself how I can answer the questions, guide the conversations, help people to see the only One who can fix the most broken of us.
The answer comes from a woman carrying a small creamy-white jar.
Now when Jesus was in Bethany, in the house of Simon the leper, There came unto him a woman having an alabaster box of very precious ointment, and poured it on his head, as he sat at meat. But when his disciples saw it, they had indignation, saying, To what purpose is this waste? For this ointment might have been sold for much, and given to the poor. When Jesus understood it, he said unto them, Why trouble ye the woman? for she hath wrought a good work upon me. For ye heave the poor always with you; but me ye have not always. For in that she hath poured this ointment on my body, she did it for my burial. Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her.
There, looking up at me from the pages of Scripture is the truth:
brokenness can only ever be healed by more brokenness.
Me, being broken and spilled out, not for others, but as a gift to Jesus,
while pointing them always, only to the One who was broken for us.

All the right words cannot heal the brokenness.
Gifts, advice, hugs, time, notes, none of these can heal those who feel torn apart.
I can never repair the brokenness.
There is but one sure medicine ~
the love of The Broken One freely shared through my own brokenness.

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