God can take what Satan meant for shame and use it for His glory. Just when we think we’ve messed up so badly that our lives are nothing but heaps of ashes, God pours His living water over us and mixes the ashes into clay. He then takes this clay and molds it into a vessel of beauty. After He fills us with His overflowing love, He can use us to pour His love into the hurting lives of others.
Every single heart has a wounded place.
Don’t cover it up.
Share it with safe people who can help you shake off the shame. Let others in. You may be surprised how many share your own brand of brokenness.
Heart to heart, hand in hand, walk together toward Home.
God sees the tears you hide; He has not abandoned you.
He loves you and will weave these hard and painful things into the tapestry of your life.
He longs to touch your heart at just the place you need healing and bring beauty from ashes.
And then fill you with love and grace to share the healing hope of Christ with others.
I first shared this in 2014 not quite a month after Dominic ran ahead to heaven.
His leaving has made me much more aware that what we read as “stories”where we can turn to the last page and know the ending, others lived in real time, with no ability to fast forward to the ending.
Read the rest here: Barefoot Over Broken Ground
As we enter the week on the Christian calendar when most churches celebrate the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ, I am reminded that often we race past the road that lead to Calvary and linger at the empty tomb.
But to understand the beauty of forgiveness and the blessing of redemption, we MUST acknowledge the sorrow of sin and the burden of brokenness.
When our sacred spaces draw boundaries around what we can bring to the Lord’s Table, we exclude the very ones who are desperate for the bread and cup.
Read the rest here: Making Space for Brokenness at the Table of the LORD
Whether the burden is child loss, abuse, chronic illness or some other ongoing and unchangeable hard circumstance, it’s easy to get so good at acting “OK” you can almost fool yourself.
But all that stress and struggle exacts a cost.
Pretending that it doesn’t is not helpful at all.
Read the rest here: Don’t Let It Fool You
I think I will post this link as long as I maintain the blog because I will always be a voice for those whose lives look more like Ash Wednesday than Mardi Gras.
I will continue to speak out for space in our congregations and fellowships that acknowledge life is often hard, often unfair and often more like a broken hallelujah than a high note.
I am not a member of the Church of the Perpetually Cheerful. I am a member of the Broken Body of Christ, limping through this world, holding onto hope with both hands.
Twenty-four hours separate one of the most outlandish global parties and one of the most somber religious observances on the Christian calendar.
Many of the same folks show up for both.
Mardi Gras, “Fat Tuesday”, is the last hurrah for those who observe Lent-a time of reflection, self-denial and preparation before Resurrection Sunday.
It’s a giant party-food, fellowship and fun-a wonderful way to celebrate the blessings of this life.
Ash Wednesday, by contrast, is an invitation to remember that “from dust you came and to dust you will return”. None of us get out of here alive.
Read the rest here: Mardi Gras and Ash Wednesday: A Study in Contrasts
I’m not a huge fan of the images of Heaven that feature people floating on clouds.
But I love this one.
Here’s why: Because it highlights the lifelong impact of child loss on a parent’s heart.
You can agree or disagree with his politics or her choice of service projects, but you can’t argue with the evidence of lives lived passionately committed to loving others and doing good in the world.
And I absolutely, positively believe that a huge part of what informed that passion was burying a child.
A heart that has endured such painful loss cannot remain unchanged.
Brokenness begets bountiful love if you let it.
And I believe the Bushes did just that.
I am thankful they are reunited-no more pain, no more suffering, no more waiting for redemption.
So I’ll hang onto this whimsical cartoon as a reminder to my heart that even as I wait, longing for the same, I can choose to live a life of loving service.
As long as I am here, I will reach out
to touch the hands and hearts of other hurting humans.
Thank you, George and Barbara, for your example.
Enjoy your reward. ❤
I think I will repost this every year as long as I maintain this space.
It may get old for some, but it will never get old for me.
While my heart is turned toward thankfulness this time of year, I’m also profoundly aware of my own brokenness…
Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday.
My birthday sometimes falls on the day itself, and I have often been able to celebrate with extended family and friends-a full table of food and a full house of fellowship.
Read the rest here: Thankful But Broken