The beauty that seeps from the cracks of an injured soul

I don’t think I’ll ever be afraid of brokenness.
In a way, I am almost attracted to it,
Attracted to the beauty that seeps from the cracks of an injured soul,
To someone humbled by their pain,
Softened and sensitive to the hurting world around them.
The people that are content with sitting alone
And won’t complain about life’s disappointments
Because they are grateful for life’s simplest blessings.
There is something beautiful about a quiet soul
That whispers words of hope,
But only in their fragile movements,
With their tender eyes that leak their pain
Without even needing to be searched.
They needn't use fluffed up words,
Rehearsed and tactically chosen to draw attention to themselves.
They accept their being small
And by no means ever expect to be important,
But they do know that every encounter
Is an opportunity to leave behind
The smallest inkling of an impact;
And hidden inside that knowledge is just enough motivation
...To keep going

And though they often exist in fragments,
They can piece together to create the most tragically beautiful story of hope
When they are noticed.

The life in your face

There is an unbelievable amount of disparities between me and you;
However, unfortunately to my own dismay, there are quite a few similarities too.
For instance, the fine line of a frown painted across your face
When the ones you love most let you down.
The way you carry your hurt along those pretty little shoulders
Into every room you enter; each disappointment leaves you a little colder.
The way you settle for the situations you are dealt with hardly even a fight.
My mind trickles towards the past and I wonder if you ever shook your head no,
If you ever did something about feeling trapped, if you ever fought to try to change that.
I can see the lines of hurt crinkled upon your brow,
Your hollow walk across the hardwoods,
And I can't help but wonder how?

Did loneliness set in and cause you to settle? Did worthlessness fool you into feeling belittled?
Is the reason two strangers stand in the kitchen because you didn't believe that you could be loved?
It's hard for me to say, but your entire life is in your face.
Your eyes scream of the countless tears, the nights spent leaking into your pillow,
The nights you cried over a dying father,
The heartache of a grudge-holding mother,
The tears shed over your balancing school and paying it off... until you eventually lost that, too.
A life of loss;
And now you walk hollowly across the floor,
You poured everything you had into your children, but were heartbroken that they did not love you more.

Your daughter came to mimic your hollow walk, and you worried especially for her.
"Don't grow up and be like me, don't make my mistakes."
But she knew that she was the one that lived a lifestyle the most like you,
She carried this with her each and every day, these burdens upon her shoulders; she learned it from you. But, still, you rebuked her for it because you wish someone had warned you.
You saw the way she carried her hurt along those jagged lines,
You propped her up and dusted her off,
As if you were saying, "Look pretty for the people, don't show them your hurt."
But then, she began to hold them in. She wanted a mother to speak to; for your approval she begged.
Each mistake she made similar to yours was another crack along your heart,
Reminders of the past, your shoulders got heavy.
It's hard to love someone representative of your hurt.
Still, she adored you. The hurt you caused her was marked along her skin, but she loved you, still.
She wanted back those days when you would sing to her, rub her spine along her back,
Humming songs to her and kissing her head.
She hated herself for growing up and becoming like you,
"I'm sorry mom, I know you told me not to."

See, but the difference between her and you is that she doesn't want to settle and she hopes for a better ending.
She has clung to words of wisdom and knows not to be angry with you.
She walks boldly now, and she knows who she is.
It hurts her that her mother still disapprovingly shakes her head, but she knows that her mothers approval isn't absolute truth.
She won't let worthlessness fool her into thinking she cannot be loved;
She wants you to know that you are worth loving, too.

"Come with me to the mountains"

"Will you come with me to the mountains? It will hurt at first, until your feet are hardened. Reality is harsh to the feet of shadows. But will you come?"

     -C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

Frustration, confusion. You have come to a fork in the road and you're considering which path it is you should choose to take.  The path to the right is most definitely scaling up the mountain, there is no doubt. It is jagged and rocky, steep and by no means appealing. To the left; on the contrary, is a path that appears to be scaling up the mountain, a much less treacherous and steep hike; it looks almost enjoyable, by no means rocky or dangerous. You hardly falter in your decision, as you grab your things and pace towards the left. But, almost out of nowhere, a lean young man calls after you, from the path to the right. His smile is genuine, inviting. "Will you come with me to the mountains?" He asks gently.

You are so perplexed by this stranger who seems to be so interested in your company, "I am going to the mountains, but I am going by this path, it seems much more pleasurable."

Your words paint a small frown across his face, "I assure you, that path may be more enjoyable along the way, but the view of this one, the destination is far more rewarding. Sure, it is jagged and rocky and steep; it will hurt at first, but eventually your feet will become hardened. That path is deceitful, it appears to bring you up to the top of the mountains, but it really only brings you further away."

His words confuse you even more, "Have you walked the jagged path before?"

The stranger nods his head gently, "Many times. Will you come?"

"Have you walked the other path before?" You fold your arms across your chest.

Slowly, he shakes his head, "I have invited many of my brothers and sisters to walk with me along this path instead, but many have chosen to take that one. I have never seen them at the top."

"Do you know where it leads to, if not the top?"

Remorse covers the strangers face, "Continually, they walk along the path, unwounded, yet so bounded in suffering. My path is always accessible along their way, but they hope in their path, they convince themselves that eventually they will reach the top, and then it will be worth it; surely my path must end in death. But it is quite the contrary, and they realize this all too late."

Anger fills your veins, "If you know this path ends in death, why don't you save them rather than just inviting them and watching them waltz into their death?!"

He is patient, "I have saved them, I have given them the option to take this path. I came and I made a way to the top of the mountain. Before, they could only take the other path."

You soak in his words, trying to understand, "I can't fully understand," you grumble.

He grins easily, "And you won't. You just have to believe that what I say is true. Will you come with me to the mountains?"

You sigh and look back at the easy path, "I think I would rather enjoy my walk to my ruin than hike up an exhausting and dangerous path to a better destination. I mean, I will most definitely fall and be injured on your path."

He nods, "No doubt, you will fall. Many times along my path, you will fall. But I will be with you each time that you do, and before you know it, your feet will harden and you will become stronger. You will have to persevere, but then you will find yourself in paradise."

Slowly, you stutter, "Well I will be lonely on the other path..."

"Will you come?" He holds out his hand.

You falter, wondering who this man really is; a stranger who could easily be deceiving you. But you walk towards him, leaving behind your things and you embark on the jagged path. At first, the path is not too bad, you excitedly walk beside your new friend, wanting to know all about him, how to be like him. But soon, the jagged rocks pierce your feet and you want to turn back. Through your tears, you cling to his hand and he guides you. He takes you to a nearby pool of water, he washes your wounded feet and your scabbed hands from your many falls. Your salty tears run down your face and he looks at you consolingly, "I have been wounded, too. To make this path, I was wounded for you." He holds out his hands for you to see.

You place your fingers in his scars and you wince for him, "I didn't deserve for you to do that. I doubt you, still, all too often. I think you have lied to me and I have wanted to turn back."

He shakes his head, "And you again will doubt. But no matter how many times you do, I have made a way and I delight in leading you to the mountaintops, in your company."

Your heart swells up in his kindness, in his love. You promise yourself you will persevere harder, for him, you will endure the rocky path. But the next time you trip, the blood pours from your knee and you cry in anger to him, "If you love me so much, why do you watch me suffer?"

He cries with you, "Reality is harsh to the feet of shadows, but still, will you come with me?"

You walk away from the path to a pool of water, in disgust, you wash your wound yourself, but it swells and it burns, "I will walk alone."And for a few days and nights, you do. But you trip, you stumble. He tries to near you, but stubbornly you tell him you don't need his help. It is not long before you realize that without him, the path is not as fulfilling; that you hurt more, and your mere attempts to clean out your wounds are in vain. You curl up on the ground and you bring yourself low, "I was wrong, so terribly wrong. This hike is nothing if you are not with me."

He wraps you up, he pieces your cuts together, he holds you in his arms, "I was always with you. I never left."

Through tears, you correct yourself, "This hike is nothing if it is not for you. In return. For your love. I don't deserve you."

"And yet you always have me," he smiles at you.

You sit up, strengthened by him being with you, "Will you come to the mountains with me? My feet are still sore, but they will become hardened. I walk in the shadows still, but will you come?"

The Truth will set you free

This is not the woman I want to be; clinging to these words that the Enemy sneaks into my mind, to these lies rather than to what I know is true. Oh, he is so good at what he does... belittling me and making me doubt. He just loves that I carry these lies with me everywhere I go; he is so excited that they weigh me down. When I look in the mirror they scream at me, sometimes they can be all that I see: Worthless. Negative. Lazy. Depressed. Not beautiful enough. Not skinny enough. Obnoxious. Lonely. Selfish. My every flaw haunts me. My past creeps into my present and I cry out to my Father and I say, "Oh, Jesus, will I ever defeat these lies?"

He responds lovingly yet humorously, "No, precious. But I have." I am overwhelmed with peace. "But, you see, so long as you focus on these lies, you'll fall underneath their weight. But if, instead, you focus your attention on Me, because I am the Truth, I will lift you so far above those lies that the next time they creep into your mind, you will know to turn to Me. And then this will gradually become a habit, turning to Me when those lies attempt to bring you down."

So instead of focusing on the word 'negative' in an attempt to not be negative, I should just focus on the word 'positive'. This seems so simple writing it out, but the real struggle is living it out. And so, naturally, I am about to use a really cheesy musical metaphor.

I have played piano for about 6 years. And the funniest thing that I noticed while frustratedly pounding through a song is that as long as I am focusing on the part that I always mess up at, I will always mess up at it. But if I begin to play and just really let the music make me focus on the sheer enjoyment of playing, I end up making it through the song. When I cautiously play, dreading that one part I know is my weak spot, I always end up messing up and walking away frustrated. But when I go into it knowing the parts I'm good at and wanting to simply enjoy those, I accidentally end up not messing up.

So if, instead of focusing on these lies that the Enemy plants in my mind, I choose to focus on my Heavenly Father and the truth He declares over my life, I might accidentally become far less sensitive to those lies. Because, if I go into the "song" knowing my strong suits: Jesus' truth about me, I will accidentally end up so focused on those truths that I make it through the part I am not so good at: those moments when a lie is planted in my mind.

This is the woman I want to be; clinging to these words that the Father speaks into my soul, to these truths rather than to the lies the Enemy tries to fool me into seeing as true. Oh, He is so good at what He does... speaking worth into me and making me firm in faith. He just loves that I carry these truths with me everywhere I go; He is so excited that they vindicate me. When I look in the mirror, I can declare His truths about me and know that I, indeed:
Am a LIGHT. Am NEVER alone. Am able to find JOY in my weaknesses. Am a SELFLESS servant. Have so much worth that He lowered Himself to death... even death on a CROSS!
My every strength assures me. My past is NOT my present and I cry out to my Father and I say, "Oh, Jesus, thank You! When I am in CONSTANT communication with You, I have overcome the lies!"

The Father wants us to delight in our freedom; He already saved us from the bondage of our sin! Why do we still choose to submit to the bondage of our faults and our sins? Where the spirit of The Lord is, there is freedom!! (2 Corinthians 3:17)

"To the Jews who had believed him, Jesus said, 'If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.'"

John 8:31-32