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Brokenness. John Smith talked about it in one of his sermons. Brokenness. That feeling that washes over you and hangs on tenaciously as constant evidence of your failures pummel you from every side.
Brokenness is a good thing. It is where all repentance, redirection, and restoration begins. Without brokenness, how can we hope to heal? It’s like a tumor… it can be cut out of us, eaten away by powerful drugs, shrunken and then killed by heavy doses of healthy foods and supplements, but if left alone, it’ll eat away at you until it kills you. However, if we remove that tumor, going through the pain of surgery, the misery of chemotherapy, or the long illness while natural means slowly works to heal, it’ll be painful and miserable but the result is true healing and health.
I can remember some of my broken times.
- The day I realized that my self- ”righteousness” was truly putrid and filthy.
- The day I reveled in vindication… instead of weeping for the one who tried to hurt me.
- When, at seventeen, I stood before my brothers and sisters in Christ and lied. Deliberately.
- When I realized that a character assasination attempt made the “gunmen” look vicious… and gloated.
And finally… more recently…
- When injury by others made me weep more for them rather than me.
Am I finally growing up? I don’t know. I doubt it. I’m a very selfish and weak person. I feel like Paul in that I don’t do what I want to do and do what I don’t want to do. I am wicked, evil, and … broken.
Brokenness hurts. No matter what the cause, whether our repentance or another’s injury, it hurts. Perhaps it’s growing pains. Those aches in the middle of the darkest hours of night making sleep impossible. Remember that? Oh the aching and misery. (Ok, so I never felt it myself but my tall girls sure did ache. Braelyn cried with the pain.)
The older I get, the quicker I am to forgive, to move on, and to extend grace. To everyone but myself anyway. However, the older I get, the more I take to heart, every single one of my many failures. They weigh heavily on me and yet there is nothing I can do about them. Once failed, I can’t change it. I hate that.
And in the midst of all of the pain that we can inflict on our own lives, is the pain that others inflict on us.
“Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
I remember as a young teen. Oh boy I was like Marianne Dashwood. “Suffer for righteousness? What could be more glorious!”
Oh how naive I was. The older I get, the more I realize how naive I truly was- both in what true persecution was, and in how petty my little grievances would be in the grand scheme of things. Don’t get me wrong; it hurts when someone makes false accusations, erroneous assumptions, attributes evil motives, or tries to shift their blame onto me. Usually, there is blame on all sides of anything which is why, I think, it hurts even more when you’ve worked hard to avoid doing the very things that you’ve been accused of doing.
Regardless of fault or blame, what really matters is our heart. If our hearts are cold with self-preservation, self-righteousness, or just plain self, then they show the natural state of man before redemption. If we’re redeemed… washed clean by the blood of Jesus… they should not show self but reflect Him. Only Him.
Unfortunately, this doesn’t always work does it? We get self in front of that mirror and hide the Jesus waiting to shine through. Self. It’s at the root of so many things. Is it possible that self is the root of pride? Self?
And brokenness. Is that how we die to self?
I don’t know. I do know I’m broken again. It used to grieve me that I was broken. It just shows that my brokenness still had too much of self in it. I think. I don’t know. Now, I’m broken over many things. Some my fault, some because of pain inflicted on me by others.
Will I grow through this as I have in the past? I hope so. It breaks my heart. Then again, I guess that is what it’s all about… Brokenness.
Look, we’ve hit home base board too!
Don’t Cathe’s gorgeous pot holders look marvelous? I found the blue one. (And had to cover the green with it for now.)
I love my pretty island with the colorful bowls!
Lorna wants you to see her adorable kitchen too. Hey, what can I say… she’s her mommy’s girl!
I discovered, hours after he left, that Mr. Hodgson and I forgot the handles on the island! EEK! We dont’ have a handle on that yet but we’ll get it handled tomorrow.
And the water filter is here! It’s next.
I made the valance today. Boy a bit of color really makes a difference.
Before a bit of color…
After painting the red bread box and a valance.
Time to put in my colorful bowls! I can’t wait!
This week’s blog question…
The phone rings and you are informed that you have won an all expense paid trip for one week. Where are you going? What will you do there? Who, if anyone, are you taking with you? Is there anything special you are bringing?
Ok, I’ve thought about this all afternoon. My first reaction was that Lisa goofbuddy and I would hop a plane and take a tour of the Lake District in England. It seemed like a lovely idea and is something I’ve considered a dozen times. Or maybe a hundred.
However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was a trip I will probably make happen one way or another but there were other places I’d rather have “paid” for me.
It was a toss up between China and India but India won. I’ve had a fascination with India ever since I wrote a book about a man who immigrated to the US with his parents from India when he was eight.
Now, here is my shameful confession. In the movie “Bride and Prejudice” (An absolutely hysterical movie if you watch it late at night), the main character (portraying Elizabeth Bennett) accuses Mr. Darcy of not wanting to see the “real” India but rather a sanitized version to have a flavor of India without seeing the reality of it. I confess that this is mostly what I want.
I know it isn’t politically correct to be staunchly American in both patriotic pride and in blindness to the differences in the world but I am afraid that not only am I, but I like it that way. *blush* I want to see the beauty of India. I want to see as much of the reality as my heart can take but I confess, I do not want to be thrust into the abject poverty of India. Does that make me despicable? Perhaps it does, but I’m honest.
I want to go to one of the southern provinces where Tamil is spoken and hear it. I want to learn a few words and interact with whatever people will put up with my Americanisms. I want to see the history and the culture and even try the food (and I don’t enjoy spicy-read hot- foods) all while carrying my bottled water, riding in my air conditioned whatever, and sleeping in a clean and comfortable room. It’ll be hard enough to realize tht a family could live for months on what I’m spending each night for a comfortable bed.
I want to purchase beautiful batiks, saris, and enamel jewelry. I want to see the church plants that Doug Tackett’s “Crossover Ministries” has made.
I just don’t know how I can possibly do it in one week.
It’s an interesting word. The words housekeeping, housekeeper, etc. are all English variants of the Greek word oikosdespotes meaning “despot of the home” or “house despot.” It’s what many Bible versions translate as “keeper of the home.”
I find it interesting that on the surface, it looks like maid service. You know, keep the laundry done, scrub the toilets, do the dishes, and make the beds. That’s what it looks like when you hear the word. However, if you think about it on a deeper level, the job of “house despot” is a mentally stimulating and challenging job.
I must say, however, that it is difficult to imagine myself as a competent “house despot” when my housekeeping at present looks like I’ve ignored it for six weeks or more. Oh wait, actually, I have haven’t I?
We’ve all seen it happen. One thing begets another, and another, and another…
I’ve been mulling over the effect of our thoughts on our actions and how that can begin a cycle that spirals either downward or climbs upward depending on which way we direct those thoughts.
For example, if my husband says something that bothers me, I have two options. I can either respond (either mentally or outwardly) with an attitude of assuming the best and “suffering long” or I can allow myself to be affronted by it.
I’ve found that if I allow myself the luxury of being affronted it spirals downward into an ever never ending cycle of ugliness. It can start with a call from the Pest Control people making pests of themselves about getting rid of my pests. I’m irked that they called me when they have specific instructions NOT to call and ask me. They’re to call Kevin. So I’m irked and I let it take root.
The next thing you know, a child asks me to do something they know I won’t allow. Like Pinocchio’s nose, my root grows with each irritation. I can’t find my favorite knife. Someone has put it where it doesn’t belong. Hubby comes home and is exhausted. I ask a question and he’s fighting his own irritants… I just became one. If he responds with a grumpy tone and if I respond in kind, my irritation plant grows. And now he has one growing as well. The children walk on eggshells, get irritated about it, and the plants converge.
In very little time, without caution, the individual plants can grow into one large ugly grumpy bush.
The reverse is true as well you know. If the pest company calls and I get irritated, I don’t have to let it take root. I can get off the phone, take a deep breath and rip out that root by reminding myself that I don’t always remember to step out of the rut myself. She’s doing her job, she’s calling her customers… and I’m just one in the middle. She didn’t notice or remember that she’s supposed to call Kevin. Suck it up, take a deep breath, smile, and be glad they call at all.
The child asks you to give them a spelling test. You are exhausted, don’t want to do it, and on top of that, you’re in the middle of typing something. Take a deep breath and rip out that root of irritation. Be thankful the kid is doing their school work without being told!
And so on. Once exhausted hubby gets home, I ask the question, get the grumps… take a deep breath, rip out that irritation root once again and remember that he’s been up since 4:30. He’s tired. He just rode home in the nasty wind. He knows he has a cooler to get going, two bike tires to fix, and one of the girls needs help with their Algebra. Show a little mercy. Smile, hand him a pillow, and remind self to ask the question later when he’s more rested. If it needs an answer NOW, just ask. Take the grumpy response, and move on.
Ugliness really does feed off of itself. Every time we allow ourselves to give into the irritants of life, it becomes even easier the next time. Pretty soon, it’s a habit that we don’t even pause to consider. It’s part of who we are.
The same is true of kindness except, perhaps, that initially it is harder to develop into a habit. Let’s face it, it’s always easier to be selfish and self-centered than it is to die to self. But truly, every time you make a choice to do something kind, be forgiving, overlook an offense, and choose to respond graciously, you make it easier to do it the next time.
Make graciousness and kindness a habit and next time it’ll be easier… and those irritation plants might just go grow somewhere where they can’t hurt anyone.
You know, I just remembered a book that we have that illustrates my point perfectly.
The Quarreling Book by Charlotte Zolotow.
If we’re going to start a snowball effect, why not make it a nice one instead of an ugly one.
Like stainless steel sinks and brushed nickel faucets! Lookie!
Out of courtesy for our beloved Mr. Hodgson (since I didn’t want to put him in the awkward position of having to say either, “I really don’t like my picture taken” or “Oh goodie, take pics of ME” and feelign totally blechy for having to think about it) I tried very hard not to get a full on pic of him. I tried to ensure that if he was in the picture, only those who know him super well would recognize him.. and hopefully because they knew it was him from outside sources rather than facial recognition.
People like me who don’t like our picture taken “get it.”
Oh I love my counters. The first one in got religion today (It’s holy now…er… holely). The others were simply installed. The china cabinet thought it was stock and got split but all is well. (It needed to be narrower because of the narrower cabinets there. hee hee)
All counters present, accounted for, and firmly rooted in their new homes.
Isn’t it EXCITING!
