I’ve prayed a lot lately, attempting to reach God over the noisiness of my life. Last Sunday, I finally felt like He turned down the volume around me and sat with me. Just right next to me on the sofa. After a while, I felt His quiet voice–not scolding me for not doing as I’m told nor rushing me like a hurried mother–but reminding me to breath deeply. To stop taking myself so seriously. I’m terrified of failure. I, like many of you, feel like brokenness represents a closed door that sometimes gets flung open for everyone to see, but most of the time stays carefully tucked away. Brokenness is an essential part of learning to walk with Jesus, but isn’t it funny how we so often tape and glue and trim hedges to make ourselves look presentable? The passage below came to me during this time last Sunday. The words poured cooling waters on my worried, troubled soul and I understood once again. You’re supposed to be broken. That’s what makes you a beautiful patchwork of stories–to shine Light into the shadows.
Listen to what Mike Yaconelli says:
It only took a few hours of silence before I began to hear my soul speaking. It only took being alone for a short period of time for me to discover I wasn’t alone. God had been trying to shout over the noisiness of my life, and I couldn’t hear him. But in the stillness and solitude, his whispers shouted from my soul, “I am here. I have been calling you, but you haven’t been listening. Can you hear me?” I love you. I have always loved you. And I have been waiting for you to hear me say that to you. But you have been so busy trying to prove to yourself you are loved that you have not heard me.”
I heard him, and my slumbering soul was filled with the joy of the prodigal son. My soul was awakened by a loving Father who had been looking and waiting for me. Finally, I accepted my brokenness . . . I had never come to terms that. Let me explain. I knew I was broken. I knew I was a sinner. I knew I continually disappointed God, but I could never accept that part of me. It was a part of me that embarrassed me. I continually felt the need to apologize, to run from my weaknesses, to deny who I was and concentrate on what I should be. I was broken, yes, but I was continually trying never to be broken again–or at least to get to the place where I was very seldom broken.
Can you relate to this endless striving to get to a place where you are seldom broken? Have you felt like a failure because of weaknesses that keep showing up in your life?
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