This week has been oh, so heavy, hasn’t it?
I can’t help but feel like the global brokenness that echoes all around us has gotten louder, closer. But maybe that’s just a sign of my slow but steady growth, this fragile empathy that stakes my own wellbeing to that of another’s.
There have been far too many front-page tragedies, and then there are the countless quieter ones; a stunned, sudden sort of grief and a seasoned one; a corporate mourning and times so private you can’t help but feel bled bone-dry.
I guess my point is that we are all in pieces. Where once there might have been wholeness, there is now just a brokenness. There is no almost broken or very nearly broken, there is just the breaking, and then it is done.
What a sad story we all are, we all have.
And it is this awareness of the things that are broken that has snuck up on me. All around me, amongst my friends, blips on the radar and across somber headlines. We are all and everywhere a broken people. The very least I can do to try and mend the cracks feels inadequate; the very most I dare to do feels dangerous.
This is where I am right now: I am sifting through the pieces of my fellow man, all the while knowing the mortar to my own cracks is the thing I am most afraid to share. I cover up my cowardice with sympathy, fearful that my fickle faith might not be sufficient for another. I am silent, because how can I dare to glorify the Ever After, if I am not invested — or even just interested — in the healing of the wounds here, now? Quietly and with shame, I worry that this world of brokenness is bigger than the God who is watching.
It is then I realize just how little I know of this God, the God who bled so thoroughly over us, His blood even still overflowing within the crevices we cling to. I realize how forgetful I am of the truth that He is less interested in fixing our brokenness in favor of remaking us into wholeness. Not just later, or eternally, but even as we stumble along.
Over and over and within my own heartache over what is broken and tragic, I fail to really understand that this brokenness is only a shadow of our broken relationship with God, that this grief is but an echo of His grieving our loss, that our bleeding is shallow as the whole world swims in His blood.
It may be a sad story, but maybe I can share with you the very best parts.