Broken and Running. Learning to Rest.
God of my youth—whose love I felt—whose character I knew. Why do you hide your face from me?
Your promises of a new life, renewed hope and peace have fallen flat. Are they mere illusions?
Do I not know this Hope or Peace because I am not righteous enough or not broken enough?
You have promised peace amidst pain—purity amidst perversion—beauty amidst ashes—wholeness amidst brokenness.
Perhaps I have clung to my definition of peace amidst pain as not crying myself to sleep each night or facing each day without the overwhelming desire to sleep and escape.
Or to my definition of beauty amidst ashes as not abhorring every part of my body and every ounce of person inside of me. That I would experience reprieve from the lies. That I would no longer view the scars from my cutting as my only beauty.
Or to my definition of wholeness amidst brokenness as good sex, acceptance of my body, mind and spirit, finding a place as a wife—a pastor’s wife.
I have spent the first 25 years of my life telling you—my creator how you created me wrongly—and what simple changes you could make or simply help me to make to bring redemption. I even bartered with you, promising you your share of Glory.
But you, Oh God are not simply the God of my youth who offers empty hope and abuse. You are the God of me today—offering true hope, lasting change and real peace.
See my definitions of purity, beauty, wholeness and peace miss you and circumvent the cross. My disillusionment is because of my definitions—not your character.
My created world of walls and expectations that only kept me from you were my attempt to string together fig leaves to hide my shameful body. I take off these leaves and stand before you, my God—naked and unashamed and ask for Your garment of righteousness.
When I am seduced by the lies that I am worthless, unattractive, fat, ugly and disgusting. When I am attracted to the beliefs that I am a complete failure as a wife and will only hinder my husband’s ministry. When I am compelled to tell my husband how he is missing out on life because of me and how he should marry someone else for a better life. When I think of myself as broken beyond repair. As I taste the bitterness of my tears, I turn to you, my Father, my God, my Savior and Creator. I fall into your arms and I find peace, purity, wholeness and beauty, I find rest for my weary soul.
I no longer must run from every failure, each broken part of my soul or every source of false hope. I only must turn to you. For you are there and you are for me. Just as you were there when people rejected me—when a woman stole my purity, sense of femininity and sexuality- -when I made Paul and beauty my idols and Saviors and when I wept bitterly when they did not save or redeem.
You are my redeemer. My life is about your redemption and glory. My shame is gone. It does not belong to me.
I confess the shame I feel at your cross and in intimacy with my husband—physically, emotionally and spiritually. I confess the shame of my past and the shame of my today. Right now I step from darkness to light.
My shame does not define me—my body does no define me—my roles do not define me.
God of me today—not only of my youth—invade me. Redefine me as I rest in you.
Beautifully Broken 
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