let’s break bread together: the openness of brokenness.
I write from a place of brokenness. That’s just how I do it. Sometimes I don’t write for a long while, and it comes back to bite me. I will stay awake for long hours, thinking, writing words across my brain. I will do the dishes and rewrite the same words over and over. It’s a bit obsessive. Some say it’s a gift, and I really appreciate that. It is something I enjoy doing, and not something I strive to do. The words just come. Sometimes they rush too hard and too fast and my hands shake and I write because I have to. This is God, to me.
I don’t often write about Florence and her condition, because it is not my life. I cannot make SMA the biggest part of my life.
This is what I struggle with on a daily basis. God, show up today, show up today and work a miracle (and then I realize the great lie…He has shown up). Don’t let Florence get worse and worse and then perish (and then my heart tightens and I know these are not the things I should be thinking about: Philippians 4:8). God, God, I am broken. So what do I have to work through today? How can the struggle make me beautiful today? Oh and help me make dinner and strain the kefir and do the laundry too.
Meet me here.
One thing that I’ve been mulling over for a long while is suffering and brokenness in our society. A society that is built around social media.
Facebook does not always give a platform for pain. As we all know, it highlights our perfections. There is a Facebook page I follow, called Birth Without Fear, that often has these stories called: I Am Strong. Those are amazing. It showcases mothers overcoming some huge obstacles. Not just new mums with perfectly healthy babies struggling with sleeplessness. I was there though, before the diagnosis, and it was my happy world. It is a world that many people live in! But these I Am Strong posts remind me that I’m not alone. And that suffering strikes not just the lame and blind in India or the orphaned girl child in China, but it strikes here too, in this Western world that doesn’t seem to believe in miracles anymore. One that has built theology around why Jesus doesn’t heal and how we are somehow so different from the woman with the issue of blood (who simply touched Jesus and was healed) or Lazarus (who waited in his sickness and then died and then rose again). But we are not, Jesus loves us just the same and He is the same as He was back then. Only we have changed.
We have changed.
I like broken people. I am drawn to them now, and I suppose I always have been. I wish we could wear our brokenness out in the open, like our tattoos or our scars. I wish we couldn’t hide it.
Sometimes I tell the Lord that I’m tired of being the broken one. The one that has to hang my laundry in the open. I do it willingly. But it doesn’t mean it’s easy. I have been told I put words to your thoughts, I share my heart that mirrors your heart.
I didn’t know you were this broken too, dear one.
Tell me your story. Tell me your triumphs (because yes! I love these stories too). Tell me that God is still good even after your child dies from cancer. Tell me that God is still faithful even though you are wrapped up in an unhappy marriage. Tell me that you are broken but you know the Healer. Just don’t be afraid to share…life.
And for those that have shared tears and vulnerability with me? Thank you. Your journey gives me hope and lets me know I am not alone.
I show my brokenness because it came to me through my child, and it’s not something I can hide. And because that is what I have been called to do…or so it seems that way.
I need people in my life that I can break bread with. I need meals and love and tears spilt over your heart struggles too. Your tears and stories ignite the reserved strength in me. Even in the shambles, we can be strong in Christ. We are here for each other.
I want to help you too, but if your life looks perfect, I just don’t know how. And I’m sure others don’t either. There is no way in. Are we not all broken in one way or another? It doesn’t have to look the same as my journey, and for the most part, it won’t.
But let me see your heart cracked wide open and let me know of your struggles. Let’s be broken together so we can heal together. Let’s learn how to love each other deeply.
And let’s not stay here, in the dust. Let’s pick each other up. Let’s bury our burdens together over chicken soup and sundown while the babies sleep.
Let’s fellowship over these mountains and on this road to Zion, let’s urge each other forward, and forget the meaningless things of this earth, the dust catchers. Maybe it’s not that easy, but will you try with me?