Broken

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I thought about making this a private post, but I’m done hiding. I’m done trying to be someone I’m not. I’m done pretending all is fine, that I’m always okay because sometimes I’m not.  I’m done pretending life is always good.

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No, Sometimes I’m not okay. Sometimes. But I’m always broken. Always. I’ve been broken for years. Decades. Shoot I think I’ve always been broken.

And on my darkest days, I’m sure I’ll always be broken.

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I’ve spent time contemplating brokenness lately.

Brokenness–complete brokenness–is a sacrifice of God. He doesn’t despise brokenness of heart and brokenness of spirit. So why on earth should I?

Maybe if I changed my mind about my own brokenness and saw it–not as man sees it–but as my God sees it–then this hard place of stay, wouldn’t be so hard. Maybe if I changed my mind about it, I could see it as a place of grace.

Maybe I could see Him shining through the broken, shattered and splintered places of my soul. Maybe this is what Paul meant when he said he would chose to boast in his weaknesses.

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Because the weak, broken vessels best shine and show the love and grace of Jesus.

Brokenness shows the weak places of me. The places where because of someone else’s misdeeds (and yes, sometimes my own misdeeds), I was hurt–broken.

I’ve been completely shattered. I feel a loss of hope. A loss of grace. A loss of everything good under the sun.

I know feelings lie. I know feelings aren’t always to be trusted and sometimes they like to lead me astray.  I also know tomorrow is a different day and things might look better.

I’m not whole. I have been broken, shattered a million times and in a million pieces. I’m splintered off in a million ways.

I have holes. For some inexplicable reason, Jesus designed–or at the very least allowed–it to be for me. Because Jesus is seen in broken jars, broken vessels.

I can’t say with Paul that I’ll boast in my brokenness. That I’ll rejoice in my suffering. Because that takes time. And glue.

The thing with broken things. They remain broken. Even when you glue them. You can always see where it was broken. Those places are weaker.

I know all the “Christian platitudes” about God loving and using cracked pots, that Jesus heals, Jesus fixes the broken places. That no one is beyond His care. That in my weakest places He is strong.

Oh yes, I’ve known all of this for years and I’ve even been known to share them with others.

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But for right now, I’m just going to accept my brokenness. I’m going to accept that I’ve been shattered and trust that there is hope for one broken girl like me. I’m going to trust that Jesus is the One holding me and all my broken pieces in His hand. That He is also the glue that will put me back together again.

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