The Messy, Broken Risk of Love.

I feel like in the US we are raised around this idea that brokenness is weak. Like it’s so loud it’s hard to hear any other idea than to just be strong, and proud, and make a name for yourself. The more I try to choose to live in brokenness and choose to follow Jesus the more I realize how hard it is to undo this with your own kids.

I remember as a kid my dad would get furious with me over some of my behaviors. I remember my mom trying to be the middle ground and have both of us see our part. I also remember seeing brokenness in his eyes when he would come back to apologize. As a kid, you think your parent is bi-polar. As a parent, you realize…he was trying to walk in brokenness. She was trying to fight the battle to make it right. Here are these completely human people trying to constantly remember that Jesus already covered this moment…already covered this child’s imperfections…and we react to it and realize we fail and don’t act like that in the moment. Then these humans wind up having to walk back to their child to ask forgiveness, make that relationship right, and risk breaking themselves open and vulnerable to keep that love blood flowing.

It’s becoming not so crazy to me. Those moments of brokenness in my father’s eyes? My mom trying to be the middle ground? They were moments they were fighting to follow Jesus. That battle against the heavens instead of flesh and blood. That Ephesians battle instead of protecting ourselves.

That’s where the battle is in love. It’s not to stay together. It’s not to stand up and pull it all together on our own and re-write our story after every failure….it’s to chose brokenness. It’s to look at ourselves and our brokenness and see our need for Jesus and pour it right back out and start risking it all to love this person all over again.

Choosing love is choosing brokenness because love is a risk. We are not at all guaranteed that loving this person in front of us will ever bring a return. We are promised that God will work. Just not guaranteed it will be the person in front of us, unless we are looking in a mirror. These promises are unseen. Made by an unseen. And only in the moments of brokenness are we really closest to His presence because the lover and creator of our very being is unseen and already traveled this journey we walk.

When we get past the moment of wanting to pick ourselves back up and press into those unseen promises…when we lay out and trust that the Creator will remake us in the brokenness, we may look up through the tears and see the compassionate eyes of the Savior bearing right back into ours and starting to heal our brokenness. I don’t think there is a clearer place to see Jesus because He is the image of love broken out and risked. How could I have thought I would have seen Him more anywhere else but in┬áthis broken place?

When I stand here son, and I start to feel that you are breaking me with your sin…I feel my anger rise. But that anger God. Remind me that it’s my resistance to realizing I am just as human. That this is where my own sin is flaring up. God help me remember this anger is passion for his future to be found only in You. Help me to lay this anger down and think clearly because I really just want him to see Jesus. To run past the doors of anger to grace and compassion. To pour it all out and risk being hurt again to chance the moment that he might actually know You and see You in his life. Help me to remember that this love is worth the risk, not me shooting my own arrows back at him. Even if I am left feeling broken and emptied out and completely humiliated for loving that little struggling sinner I birthed in my own brokenness. I don’t want to have to humbly go back and fix my wrong moves with my children. I want to intentionally follow the battle plan in the thick of it. So they can see it. So they can see how it’s lived without me telling them how to live it first.

To live in that perspective that today brings the future hope is the most difficult for our heart and head to connect. To live in the moment remembering it will bring forever results. It makes us realize we need a Savior desperately because we aren’t anywhere close to being omnipresent and omnipotent. The only option it leaves me with is broken surrender to survive. To realize that I have these promises written in front of me, that the battle plan has been written for me and I need to merely obey the orders left by the unseen lover of my soul.

It means this world’s method of things can’t possibly be right. I can’t then pick up and move on. I can’t harden myself to these difficult circumstances. I have to stay and wait. I have to cling to these promises that seem so small at times waiting and hoping that He will one day return for me. There is no way around this but to wait in the broken. To wait and trust.


When all I have is broken.

In the busy constant it can overwhelm. I can catch myself not breathing. I almost have to slow down and remember that practice that has been common to my being since life was breathed into me over 28 years ago.

It’s like we spend our days trying to collect the pieces to make something. Like putting broken shells together on the beach or trying to glue something together that’s shattered. These are the priceless pieces of our life. The things we think we can’t live without. It takes something bigger to shatter our own lives into a million pieces to realize that something isn’t much of anything…and the somethings that are priceless we’ve itemized off as a less than priority.

When these human vessels start not quite working right, it’s like the pieces are slipping from what we thought was perfect. “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.” That beat beating heart. Those in and out breathing lungs. The parts that were woven to all work together. What then, when they aren’t?

What is holding these broken pieces then when the fearless wonder to starts fading and falling out of synch?

Maybe the question then isn’t why or how…maybe it’s how do I praise from here? What do I do to praise in this broken?

My heart was deceived. It was never in the glue. It was in the breaking. The broken. The parts that feel like they’ve spilled my insides out on the floor and made a horrible mess. That’s where the healing starts. That’s the only place it can start.”I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

When we are spilled out and broken, that’s where He can fill. When I’m not so busy filling myself but when I’m so broken I let Him fill me up. “Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.”

Back to the basics of my being. This part we don’t like to see. This is where I want so badly to pick it back up again, but like peeling off a part of myself, I lay it down for Him to sort through. For Him to fix. “My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.”

What happens in this space isn’t just painful. It’s soul saving. I have to remind myself in the pain, He is saving me. I have to remember I can’t live without this. “Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

These moments become grace. There is strength here because I cannot do it on my own. But I can do all things when I give this vessel back to the Potter to fix and mold to where it should be. He knows where it all goes and what I can stand. Maybe I should trust Him?

“How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!” How is it possible that in broken, there is life? And not just any life. Life that’s more abundant than before?I’ve stuttered over this process many times and missed it here because I thought I couldn’t bear giving it up to Him. Like I knew my body and soul limitation better than the one who made them. Child birthing proved me wrong. Twice.

As the third comes growing in my very being, You make it so clear in her swelling of growth. In her very movement: This woven and birthing experience is never over. All is grace as You weave and re-form me. My very presence in my mother’s womb just a foreshadowing of your weaving of my being inside the covering of Your grace for my numbered days. My very numbered, un-known, and seemingly imperfect days were gifted to be molded. “If I would count them, they are more than the sand.”

I am daily an amateur Jesus follower. Like a child sorting through the treasures of a parent’s closet… I try on the shoes I can’t fit in, and dressing up in clothes that sweep the floor more than they fit my form. But here there is grace. I dress up believing that one day the clothes, the shoes, will fit. Because in His presence all is made perfect and all is insurmountable joy. Some pieces are missed. Sometimes I don’t even want to dress up in that gifted day. Oh, but the breath in these aging lungs. The beat, beating of this sometimes doesn’t-quite-beat-right heart and He reminds me “I awake, and I am still with you.”


Psalm 139:13-18