The Broken Places

​Last night I wrote about the broken places. I don’t always write about the broken places. Sometimes I write about things I find interesting or funny or thought provoking. But last night it was the broken places.

And you know what came to me? After the writing, that is.

You. 

You showed up, as people tend to do when someone is lost or bleeding or wounded. 

You reached out. You responded with nothing but kindness and encouragement and generosity.

I am learning something through blogging. I am learning that when I write about the things I’m afraid to write about, people show up.

And that is why I still have faith. Faith in this world. Faith in humanity. Faith in a force bigger than ourselves that whispers into our souls, Someone is hurting, someone needs you, go to them, show up for them.

That is also why I keep writing. Even when it is scary. Even when it makes me feel a little bit crazy.

We are all shattered vases. But we are also the hands that glue those vases back together.

I guess the glue itself is Love. It is presence. It is hearing another human say, I hear you, I am here for you, I believe in you. 

It is hearing someone whisper, Me too.

I still feel terror when I take my heart out of its shell for others to examine. After all this time of being a human I still experience fear when I am honest, raw, real about who I am and what I think and where I am broken.

One of my biggest weaknesses (and strengths? Since our weaknesses are our strengths. Or so they say…) is wrestling with the big questions day in and day out, more often than not. 

What is my purpose? 

Why are we here? 

What the heck am I supposed to be doing with my life? 

It is exhausting work, asking so many big questions. And I can’t seem to stop. For one reason or another.

Sometimes I feel closer to the answers. Sometimes the questions, blessedly, just seem to quiet themselves so I can hear other sounds for awhile.

Today was more of an answer day than a question day. I did what needed to be done in our home and for our family. And I heard these three thoughts over and over and over again-

-We are tools, each with the power to build up and to tear down. It matters not what type of tool we are, only that we create and construct. That is our purpose.

-The magic is in the mess. There will always be mess. Look for the magic.

And-

-Life and love are both one big paradox. That is why the things we fear most have the most potential for goodness. That is why people show up when it makes no sense for them to show up. That is why love and vulnerability hurt us most and heal us most.

The miracle is in the paradox. The paradox is the miracle.

So that’s all I’ve got for tonight. And sleep beckons, as it always seems to do.

Tomorrow I think I will write about something easier. Like my new little house, my new writing desk and the sun that sets into the hills of our new front yard. 

Just a few boxes left to unpack. Kinda feels like a dream…

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4 thoughts on “The Broken Places

  1. It’s all true! I write about a great variety of topics, and the top posts ever year are the ones where I share about my hurt or tell the hard story of others. It helps us so much to learn we’re not alone. Keep writing, because the good stuff reminds us too. It just doesn’t receive quite the same response.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I wish I could write like this. My OCD requires perfection. I don’t think my thoughts could be conveyed on paper with perfection so I keep my thoughts and adventures to myself.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I would love to read about your adventures, Caryn! I have a propensity for perfectionism as well but I find that the more I write the more comfortable I feel creating. It is a curious process.

      Like

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