If someone talks to me when I’m not wearing my glasses I feel as though my hearing is broken. There is a fog that rolls in leaving me lost without a flashlight or candle to vanquish the darkness of my own making. So much of our communication is in the non-verbals. We need to ‘hear’ their body language in order to aid our understanding.

When I cannot take note of micro-facial expressions that serve as lie detectors I have to reach for my glasses in order to hear the full story. I must lean into each conversation with both ears and both eyes. Today she won’t make eye contact with me. I catch her looking my direction in my peripheral vision when I turn my gaze away. 

I try to speak in calming tones reassuring her that I won’t judge and will be here for her no matter what she tells me. Her fingers lock in a death grip on the sides of the chair while glancing out the window as if she’s plotting out her escape. I am powerless to help someone who cannot find their voice. Brokenness requires time, safety, and love as the foundation for healing to begin.

Broken people think broken thoughts, dream broken dreams, and live broken lives.

Brokenness is like four layers of wallpaper and three layers of old newspapers that have to be stripped away before you can prepare the wall for a new coat of paint. The extra-grace-required young women are often grace-intolerant. Unable to process compassion they can’t quite grasp the concept of perfect love casting out fear.

Fear paralyses.

Guilt chastises.

Sadness numbs.

Shame takes hostages and adamantly refuses to negotiate it’s treacherous terms rationally and reasonably.

Our brokenness causes many of us to run for cover. Like Adam and Eve in search of fig leaves we don’t want to lay ourselves bare in front of the world.

There is hope for the broken. I know because I’ve been there.

The young woman I describe at the beginning was much like me the first time I entered a counseling office. I had so much to say but not much came out. Tears welled up in my throat like cold fingers gripping a hot mug of cocoa and refused to let go. I couldn’t cry or speak. Fear, guilt, sadness, and shame had become comfortable in my heart and refused to budge.

It took time to learn that I had nothing to fear and that the guilt was not mine to bear. Months passed before the sadness broke away and the shame slowly healed.

Perfect love, the kind that comes from intimacy with God, the kind that flows through a trusted friend or counselor, is what we need to heal. That kind of love is found at His feet. At His feet is where all the broken is made whole. I pray that you find those moments of loving kindness as you lay down your broken pieces at His feet.

Use the player to hear “At Your Feet” from my cd, Make Me Holy.





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