I look at myself, my slight pudgy legs and foolishly generate mental groans.
Where is the thanks, girl? That you are whole and that is itself a miracle?
Years later, I break an ankle. The pain never goes away. I roll my soles on a tennis ball and wrap a bandage of crepe. I take extra special care. But I’m still a little broken.

Then, I bare a heart. Again. Then again. “You have too much hope”, I’m told. “The best thing is to pretend like you don’t care”. So I try. You’d think building walls around your heart would guarantee you’d never get hurt.
The intention may be to protect but the world lies.
And this is one of the biggest ones they’ll feed you.

When I was a young girl, I never pretended. I cried when I was hurt, demanded a hug from my Mama and let her take care of me. There was no shame in admitting you were broken, lost or hurt. I knew I would be well taken care of- fed, bathed, clothed and hugged and kissed.

You grow into a woman and walk straight into a mirage. You think you have to “hold-it-together”, “get-a-grip”, “toughen-up”.
And you nearly kill yourself trying. You cannot manufacture that strength you desire.

He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

It’s more than okay to be broken. You can even dare to be thankful for it. The Lord is near to the broken-hearted and saves the crushed in spirit. (Psalm 34:17-20)

God is your strength. He will take good care of you and soothe your tangled mess and bathe your wounds. That is why He came.

Be thankful that you are broken. Imperfect. Rough. You always will be.
You are still whole, loved and precious. Forever.
It is the great paradox of Christianity.

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