Something happened to me last week, a bittersweet “ah-hah”
moment. Spring time calls for cleaning
out my closet, something I try to regularly do at least three times a year.
This is actually a hard process because I end up going through an emotional roller
coaster ride of feeling blessed one second to be able to give away clothes to
the next moment of feeling selfish that I can afford new clothes. Makes no
sense, right? Seven bags of clothes and five pairs of shoes are dropped off and
I still feel like I can give more. Then
the “ah-hah” moment happened that morning when I was donating blood: why can I
continually give away clothes, possessions, blood, money… but I find it
impossible to give my heart to my Romeo, my Beloved? Let me invite you into my
darkness, my brokenness…
What if the things that are broken are actually beautiful? Let me explain.
I recently went on a couch surfing road trip with a sister
from another mista. Yes, we coin that phrase. We were in San Diego walking
along the pier, enjoying ice cream, street entertainment, taking random pictures,
and just watched the sunset. On our walk back to the car we see a homeless man
with a dog. We continue walking by and then as we took a couple of steps forward
we looked at each other, stopped, silently agreed… we needed to go back. This
man was sitting down, leaning against a light pole reading a book; very scrubby
looking and had a pit bull by his side (beautiful pit bull!). There was
something beautiful about him that I couldn’t look at. With one good right eye,
his left eye was blatantly blind and scars traced along his left side of his
face, he held a conversation with us talking about random topics. I remember
smiling and laughing, not at him, but with
him as his tone of voice gave way to his passions in life. There was a
question I wanted to ask him but I didn’t know how without it seeming to
demoralize him. It’s one of my favorite questions— tell me, what’s your story?
I REALLY wanted to know his story, how he got to where he was, what major decisions
affected his life… but I couldn’t ask. Why? Simply put—because of my brokenness
and shame in myself.
I have a problem with brokenness and I finally figured out
why. The more I searched into it I became
more aware that brokenness isn’t black and white. Brokenness is found in the
gray area that we all pretend we don’t have. We try so hard to mask our scars
that we forget pain is beautiful. You
see, we have diligently come up with pre-planned answers to questions so people
will think we are “fine” and “everything is okay” on the outside. What if we are not okay? What if our life is a mess? What if we are lost in this world? Pain
has programmed us to be robots. Robots need guidelines, a set of rules. Guidelines
remove love. Without love, we cannot
live. I’ve been told that one of my strengths in who I am is I offer a “no
condemnation zone.” In all honesty, the main reason for this openness to love a
complete stranger is I realized sin doesn’t define people; sin allows us to
tell each other that something is springing from deep and unmet needs.
It’s ironic, really. God calls us to draw closer, nearer to
know His face and not just His works. Yet, it’s our perception of our own darkness, our shame, our “past,” that
keeps us stagnant. Stagnation causes us to take shelter in unknown realities
that become white-lie-truths to us. This is a false shelter that I am guilty
of, tenfold over. My false shelter allows me to seek God but to flee God at the
same time; allows me to find it easier to believe that God exists before
believing that same God could love me. As I venture into this gray area, I am
continually reminded of Brennan
Manning’s words in the Furious
Longing of God: for
His love is never, never conditioned to our moods—of elation or depression. The
furious love of God knows no shadow of alteration or change. It is reliable.
And always tender.
Part of the reason why we struggle with relationships
with one another is our own inability to know who we are and why we are here.
Secretly, don’t we ask ourselves that question-- “What am I doing here? What is
my purpose?” 
If there is one thing I can guarantee you in this world,
it’s that this is a jaded world with jagged edges. Be careful what you feed in
this world because you are what you feed; you are what you repeatedly do. I wish I could say that I fell under the
white wolf. That is something I want you to see or hear. But if I were to be
honest with myself, and if God were to ask me which wolf inside me wins on a
daily basis, it would be the black wolf-- hands down. Some battles the white
wolf reigns victorious but in the ultimate scheme of things, I fall prey to
anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies and my ego. I hate these
feelings so much that I noticed patterns in myself and the topics that cause
these feelings to arise that I voluntarily try to avoid situations. I willingly
attempt to choose the white wolf because I know what joy, peace, love, hope,
humility, kindness and truth feels like. I have tasted both, experienced one
more than the other, but I want to choose “Good.”
So starting today, I’m learning to accept that
my scars are beautiful. Each and every one, no matter how painful they may have
been. This isn’t a sign of weakness but rather a sign of purpose and a wanderlust future. Those scars
made me who I am today and I’m finally okay with that. It took a long time but
finally—let me repeat, FINALLY—my mentality has switched to being thankful for
my bittersweet scars. I am no longer carrying around burdens and it is freeing.
Very. Freeing. Indeed.
I’m beautiful because I have been broken. I know what defeat
looks like. Darkness has been my best friend for so many years that I forgot
what light can look like. I’ve been betrayed, heart shattered, only to glue
back pieces that I could handle. I’ve felt half-alive for most of my life. But,
I’m still beautiful. No matter how much this world tries to dirty me, I will
not cave. I may take one step backwards but I will take two steps forward. Because in the end, I will claim victory.
Now it’s your turn—go claim your own victory!
Not all who wander are lost,
Whit
