Shame.

He visited today. In a refreshingly different, but still awful way than before. Different in that I recognized him, and awful in that recognizable, or not, he still exudes awfulness—like a whispering ghost, criticizing my every move. I saw his face—I felt his disdain. He sunk into my cracks of anger and asked me to hate. He gaped at my dancing strands of hope and told them to stop. He mocked my sadness. Marked my weakness. Masked my gladness. And raped my good. He marveled at my tears saying, Don’t stop. There are always more reasons to flow. He rocked my exhuastion saying, I’m glad to find you. I’m glad to remind you of your name. He grabbed me by the hand, wanting to lead me back into his dark, back into his dance. But I pulled away and said, “No. I see you today and your story is not worth my time.”

wishful thinking.

What if every person we crossed paths with today had some level of brokenness? And what if that brokenness was the window to seeing what is whole?

The man at the gas station.

The driver you yelled at en route to work.

The waiter at the Mexican restaurant.

The actor.

The trucker.

The pastor.
The student..
The boy laughing.
The woman crying.
The child.

They’re just like the rest of us; we’re just like the rest of them.
Broken.
It comes with the package of a beating heart and breathing lung. And whether manifested through a broken-heart, body, spirit, or mind, brokenness is a part of being.

And yet we resist it.

We treat it like a cancer, like a part of us that’s wrong and needs to be defeated, or as an obstacle preventing our wholeness. Every once in awhile you'll come across a person willing to work with their brokenness, versus fighting it, but they’re few and far between, and usually the quieted voices of culture. I wish we believed every person we crossed paths with today had some level of brokenness. And that in that brokenness was the window to seeing what is whole.

Dear Father,

Where I have so punished, let me so Love.

Where I have lived in fears, teach me Freedom.

Where I have restricted, help me trust the Table before me.

Where I have hurt others, teach me to Confess.

Where I have hurt myself, teach me Healing, unloosing the hands from around my neck.

Where I have been hurt, teach me to Forgive.

Where I have controlled, show me Surrender.

Where I am alone, let me be Embraced.

Where I remain tired, lead me to the gift of Rest.

Where I remain afraid of tomorrow, or ashamed by yesterday, unveil to me the gift of Grace today.

With Love,

Your daughter