The God of Brokenness
Nine years ago this week, I cried as our fourth daughter came into the world with a shock of hair, impossibly long eyelashes, and delicate fingers. Loren and I held hands, and the room remained silent. Nine years ago, Tirzah Irene was born broken and I was broken and some things God purposes to remain so.
These are things my soul fights against. I want to live a life of Instagram photos and pithy Facebook posts, where our dog is a maniac and our children are beautiful, mildly sarcastic reflections of their parents and I still wake up in amazement that I finally (FINALLY!) convinced the guy of my dreams to go on that date with me! And while all of that is true, in this world of social media, is it possible that we've perhaps bought into the lie that this really is our best life, now?
Reading through the gospels this summer, I see Jesus not only confronted with the brokenness of this world, but intentionally entering into it. He's seeking out the prostitutes, the demon possessed, the sick, the dying, the outcast. The broken things of this world seem to be his priority, above the bright and shiny "Instagram world" I so often long to live in.
Frankly, this brings me great comfort. Because as much as I'd like my life to look like my social media accounts, there are still nights where I'm awake at 2 am, repenting of anger at the loss of a friendship or haunted by things from decades ago. I cry out to the Lord for an answer to prayers I've prayed hundreds, thousands of times, and at my weakest moments question whether he hears, or whether he cares. And sometimes, in the happiest times as a family, when I should feel like the world is at its most right, it is in those times I grieve the most for the one who isn't.
Yet, in the midst of this, there is a strange peace. I was broken long before Tirzah. Burying our daughter only serves as a lifelong reminder, as I meet others in their own suffering, that we are all subject to Eve's choice. Whether it's abuse or anger or apathy, from the stay at home mom struggling to love her husband well to the unimaginable heartache that tests my limits of comprehension in stories here in this neighborhood, we all suffer. We are all broken.
When my daughter died, I thought I had failed to understand the goodness of God. In retrospect, I hadn't grasped the brokenness of this world.
It is that brokenness that now has me pressing farther into the darkness. To recognize, finally, that there may be parts of me that the Lord purposes to remain broken. And in that brokenness, perhaps He can reach a world of people that I wouldn't be able to apart from the valleys in my life. Truly our infinite brokenness is not beyond our Savior's infinite goodness.
So happy, happy birthday, beloved Tirzah. I only carried you for a matter of hours, but I will continue to carry you for a lifetime.
These are things my soul fights against. I want to live a life of Instagram photos and pithy Facebook posts, where our dog is a maniac and our children are beautiful, mildly sarcastic reflections of their parents and I still wake up in amazement that I finally (FINALLY!) convinced the guy of my dreams to go on that date with me! And while all of that is true, in this world of social media, is it possible that we've perhaps bought into the lie that this really is our best life, now?
Reading through the gospels this summer, I see Jesus not only confronted with the brokenness of this world, but intentionally entering into it. He's seeking out the prostitutes, the demon possessed, the sick, the dying, the outcast. The broken things of this world seem to be his priority, above the bright and shiny "Instagram world" I so often long to live in.
Frankly, this brings me great comfort. Because as much as I'd like my life to look like my social media accounts, there are still nights where I'm awake at 2 am, repenting of anger at the loss of a friendship or haunted by things from decades ago. I cry out to the Lord for an answer to prayers I've prayed hundreds, thousands of times, and at my weakest moments question whether he hears, or whether he cares. And sometimes, in the happiest times as a family, when I should feel like the world is at its most right, it is in those times I grieve the most for the one who isn't.
Yet, in the midst of this, there is a strange peace. I was broken long before Tirzah. Burying our daughter only serves as a lifelong reminder, as I meet others in their own suffering, that we are all subject to Eve's choice. Whether it's abuse or anger or apathy, from the stay at home mom struggling to love her husband well to the unimaginable heartache that tests my limits of comprehension in stories here in this neighborhood, we all suffer. We are all broken.
When my daughter died, I thought I had failed to understand the goodness of God. In retrospect, I hadn't grasped the brokenness of this world.
It is that brokenness that now has me pressing farther into the darkness. To recognize, finally, that there may be parts of me that the Lord purposes to remain broken. And in that brokenness, perhaps He can reach a world of people that I wouldn't be able to apart from the valleys in my life. Truly our infinite brokenness is not beyond our Savior's infinite goodness.
So happy, happy birthday, beloved Tirzah. I only carried you for a matter of hours, but I will continue to carry you for a lifetime.
"The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup;
you hold my lot.
The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance."
Psalm 16:5-6
posted by The Bakers at 8:48 PM
1 Comments:
Just beautiful. Much peace to you all today.
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