Brokenness
“If my life is broken when given to Jesus, it is because pieces will feed a multitude, while a loaf will satisfy only a little lad.”
--Ruth Stull, Peru
A dozen years ago, I had this scrawled on a Post-it and stuck to the wall of my dorm room.
Something in those words resonated within the core of me; not the me who joked and sang and grinned in public, but the me who was when no one looked on. It was how I felt at the time: fragmented, piecemeal, torn apart from the inside. It’s how I still feel some days.
Inevitably, when someone heard where I was from, their response included something along the lines of, “And you gave up the ocean for here?” And I would elaborate on why I chose that Midwest college, citing scholarships and family ties and such.
But the truth is, that’s hardly why I left the islands. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I left because I couldn’t stay.
It’s impossible to explain without rehashing years I’d just as soon forget, but I will say this: my life wasn’t broken because I gave it to Jesus. It was broken because I kept it from him. I made someone else my god, and that someone simultaneously loved me and tore me to shreds, and I think I’m still in the sluggish process of recovering.
And I don’t know exactly why I’m writing this today except that it’s therapeutic, I guess. And to say that I’d trade my brokenness for that which Ms. Stull speaks of in a heartbeat, never looking back.
People often say that God gives us everything for nothing if we just ask, but that’s not really true. Not at all true. He demands it all, everything we hold dear, our entire lives sacrificed at his feet.
Our tired, shattered, misshapen lives. Our emptiness, every last drop of it.
And in return, he gives us life, full and free and unending.
Not so bad a deal, if you ask me.
--Ruth Stull, Peru
A dozen years ago, I had this scrawled on a Post-it and stuck to the wall of my dorm room.
Something in those words resonated within the core of me; not the me who joked and sang and grinned in public, but the me who was when no one looked on. It was how I felt at the time: fragmented, piecemeal, torn apart from the inside. It’s how I still feel some days.
Inevitably, when someone heard where I was from, their response included something along the lines of, “And you gave up the ocean for here?” And I would elaborate on why I chose that Midwest college, citing scholarships and family ties and such.
But the truth is, that’s hardly why I left the islands. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I left because I couldn’t stay.
It’s impossible to explain without rehashing years I’d just as soon forget, but I will say this: my life wasn’t broken because I gave it to Jesus. It was broken because I kept it from him. I made someone else my god, and that someone simultaneously loved me and tore me to shreds, and I think I’m still in the sluggish process of recovering.
And I don’t know exactly why I’m writing this today except that it’s therapeutic, I guess. And to say that I’d trade my brokenness for that which Ms. Stull speaks of in a heartbeat, never looking back.
People often say that God gives us everything for nothing if we just ask, but that’s not really true. Not at all true. He demands it all, everything we hold dear, our entire lives sacrificed at his feet.
Our tired, shattered, misshapen lives. Our emptiness, every last drop of it.
And in return, he gives us life, full and free and unending.
Not so bad a deal, if you ask me.
posted by nic at 1:14 PM
1 Comments:
I agree, it is not a bad deal at all. I believe that the brokenness is generally achieved a day at a time rather than in one big shot. But so often we (okay, me) try to just get it all done at once.
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