brokenness

This is where Jean's stubbornness and, perhaps, God's stubborn grace came into play. __y definition of grace would be multifaceted, but part of it would certainly be God's passion for brokenness. He does, he really does love brokenness,_ Jean told me. __race doesn't obsess with ourselves. It obsesses with people and with brokenness. This is a hard place to live, but God is bigger than hard places to live.

Maybe she will be broken forever. but if it is so, she will adorn it with radiant elegance; and all that man will ever discern is her effortless grace and the softness of her smile.

Brokenness to redemption, where mercy and grace kiss both sides of our face.Brokenness where we are split open.Redemption where God knits us back together.Mercy when we don't get the punishment we do deserve. Grace when we get the lavish love gifts we don't deserve. So here we are.

You would not ask someone with a broken arm to swim the English Channel, so you cannot demand that the broken to live as if they were whole.

The worst kind of brokenness is the kind that you don__ know you have.

Being broken isn't the worst thing. We can be mended and put together again. We don__ have to be ashamed of our past. We can embrace the history that gives us value, and see our cracks as beautiful.

Blessed be His name that He has arranged that one Person of the Sacred Trinity should undertake this office of Comforter, for no man could ever perform its duties. We might as well hope to be the Savior as to be the Comforter of the heartbroken!

A Broken Record can still play the best soundtrack. Broken can be beautiful when you allow God work on you.

God is able to fix that which is broken so that what stands repaired is immeasurably greater than that which stood before it needed repair. Therefore, the most staggering brokenness conceivable is in reality the greatest opportunity imaginable.

We are all wounded. But wounds are necessary for his healing light to enter into our beings. Without wounds and failure and frustrations and defeats, there will be no opening for his brilliance to tickle in and invade our lives. Failures in life are courses with very high tuition fees, so I don't cut classes and miss my lessons: on humility, on patience, on hope, on asking others for help, on listening to God, on trying again and again and again.

There are parts of me that are broken. Thank you, they don't need fixing. There are places and people that I don't 'fit in' with. Thank you, I don't belong.There are words that have a comletely different meaning to me than for others. Thank you, I appreciate my own unique values.There are moments that I feel all alone in the world. Thank you, I rather enjoy and appreciate my solitude.There are people who judge me because they find me to be too shallow or too deep. Thank you, I love exploring the entirety of the ocean.There are people who truly love and value me just as I am. Thank you, you enrich my life profoundly. There is always room for expansion to grow, grace for every mistake, strength made perfect in every weakness and highest kudos for the courage to continue this adventurous soul mission called Life. Thank you, I am truly happy to be here.

I want to share my story, and I want to know yours. I believe with all my heart that sharing our stories, the real, ugly, broken ones, is one of the most powerful things in the world, because to share our story we must first accept it. We must own it. We must stop running from it or shoving it into the corner when company comes over. To share our story is to admit that we've been changed.

Despite the way she rallied, the haunted look in her eyes was enough to break him, as lost and lonely as an abandoned child__.

Suffering reminds us of our brokenness, our humanity. It disarms us of our self-absorption and magnifies our need for one another.

Evil and suffering are real . . . They aren__ an illusion, nor are they simply an absence of good. We are fallen creatures living in a fallen world that has been twisted and corrupted by sin, and we all share in its brokenness. Most of all, we share in its tragic legacy of disease and death.

The wound is the place where the Light enters you.

It's painful when the phantom of the past keeps on lingering you even you wanted to move on.

I thought of the pieces of me I'd left behind, a piece here, a piece there, scattered like bread crumbs. How much of me was left?