Sometimes, it astounds me. The brokenness.
You know, the aching and the longing and the fighting and the pain. How it seeps into every corner of this world, tugging on the strings inside our hearts, playing out a deep and rich song in a minor key. Our brokenness is our binding factor in a way. It’s what unites all of humanity. We are one giant hot mess of brokenness.
From the homeschooled girl who cries herself to sleep over unrequited love, to the pregnant teen mom who sits in the planned parenthood clinic anxiously twiddling her thumbs. We are no more – no less. We are broken. Equally broken.
No matter if you are pondering the great mystery of “is a bikini modest?” or trying to figure out how to exit the lifestyle that is selling your body to get by, we are all searching. We are all clasping to whatever we know and whatever is familiar to us. We are making do. In our own messed up, imperfect way, we are plowing through life. Whether we dance like a ballerina or stomp in the puddles, we will all get wet simply because it’s life and it rains.
Sometimes, it rains really hard.
It pours and it thunders and lightning bolts shoot down from the sky and you have no idea if this thing called life is going to turn into a flash flood that will sweep you right away. I think for many of us, the flash flood is precisely what we need to acknowledge our brokenness.
As a fifteen year old homeschooled pastor’s kid, that’s what happened to me. Truthfully, shit happened. I found myself in the middle of a flood with whirlpools and a few stray branches here and there that I tried to cling on to with no avail. My faith was shaken. I didn’t really even know if I could call it faith at times. I considered walking away. Walking away from all that I had known because it sure as hell didn’t feel real. It felt like a big fake lie and I was sick of being fake. I was sick of telling myself that I wasn’t broken and hiding behind Christianese and what I had been told.
It was then that I realized there was no way out without clinging to the one thing that I couldn’t entirely shake – Christ had died so that I didn’t have to. I realized the full extent of my brokenness and when confronted with the truth that God loved me despite of it, I was floored by the possibility. I could make such a huge mess of myself and of my life and still, there was forgiveness and grace and redemption.
I think that it’s when we don’t realize our brokenness that we are the most incapable of receiving love. Because when we think we have it all together, love becomes something we have earned. Love becomes cheapened. Love is not something that we associate with our own brokenness. Maybe we associate it with others in a, “wow, God loves that person… how amazing!” sort of way.
Yet that perspective is so cheap and so fake. It’s in the moments where you look at yourself in the mirror and say, “why would you ever love someone like me?” that love becomes something of worth. Love becomes not something that we earn, but something we are given, for what seems like no good reason. Love becomes our rescuer. Love becomes something tangible and personal.
It is only in our brokenness that the power of the gospel is made evident.
I’m sure many of you have heard this a million times, and maybe it sounds cliche. It does to my own ears! Yet I’ve come to realize, that the truth sometimes sounds cliche. We sometimes have to hear something over and over and over again before it clicks. Ok, maybe you don’t, but I do. Because at the end of the day, I am one really broken girl who is existing due to grace. Maybe you are too.