Dear Broken Girl

Dear Broken Girl,
             I'm a reader. Not just books, but anything with words. My eyes are drawn to wherever there are letters, constantly trying to find meaning from the signs and shapes around me. Today, I sat at the park, the one right on the grounds of the middle school, and I pored over the graffiti-covered table, picking out all the "she loves him" messages and strange initial additions when I saw your message. All it said, in the handwriting of a child was, "Broken Girl."

     I am fairly certain you are a middle-schooler. Frankly, that's a terrible age. I know it isn't comforting to hear that, but I was once a middle school girl, and I have one of my own now. She is bright and beautiful, just as I am sure you are. She is often a giant puddle of tears, too, a mess of emotions she isn't mature enough to manage, floundering in a saltwater sea she created. The hope in this is that it won't last forever. I don't know how old you were when you scratched this into the table, and whether it was in a fit of high drama, or just a small, sad sigh from a soul too old for its body.

    Regardless of the reasoning, (other than the fact, that as a mother, and a law-abiding citizen, I do not encourage anyone to carve into public property) I wanted you to know that I saw your cry. And I have some things I want to say to you:

    At one point or the other, sometimes at so many points that they all seem to connect together in an endless underline of pain, we are all broken. We aren't breaking, or bending, we are past tense, beyond repair. Sometimes the reasons are obvious: a boy, a bad grade, parents who don't understand. Sometimes they aren't even clear to us: just a black hovering mass of thwarted desires, misunderstood feelings and tangled emotions. Sometimes the things that break us are things that will soon be forgotten, but some inflict scars that last a lifetime: abuse, abject poverty, destroyed families, death. But we are all broken: in your case, some of us sooner than later.

    And while I am sure you know that misery loves company, it is never quite satisfying in this case to know that you are not alone. "So what?!" you probably say in the ages-old refrain of teenagers everywhere. Who cares that we are all broken? It isn't the same. No one could understand my unique brand of suffering. No one has ever walked in my shoes.

   And that would be the next thing I would say to you. You may be broken, but you don't have to stay that way. There is Someone who understands your pain, sees how it is as much a part of you as your DNA. How your very identity has become the things that have carved themselves into your heart, damaging you beyond even being able to hope for repair. He's the one who created that DNA-and He has engraved you someplace much more lasting than an ugly green picnic table.

"I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of My hands..." Isaiah 49:15b-16a NIV

    His name is Jesus and He is in the business of restoring broken things, actually, restoring broken people. And He is so good at it He can bring the dead back to life.

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." Psalm 147:3 NIV

"[B]ut it has now been revealed through the appearing of our Savior, Jesus Christ, who has destroyed death  and has brought life and immortality to light through the Gospel." 2 Timothy 1:10 NIV

  He can never forget you-He has a constant reminder of His love for you, right on His hands, where He bears the wounds that He received so that we could be healed.

""He himself bore our sins" in His body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness: "by His wounds you have been healed"." 1 Peter 2"24

    What breaks us more than sin and shame? Our sin, the wrong things that we have done-you know what they are. They are the things that you want to shove down into the deepest, darkest places inside of you, but instead they throw you in that hole. And you remain there, suffocating under the guilt, trapped by burning shame. Perhaps some shame you didn't bring on yourself, perhaps some you did. But does it matter? All that is down in that hole is your grave.

   And these might seem like things that a middle-schooler can't handle. But you have already handled more than you should. Isn't that part of what broke you in the first place? No one needs to tell you that life is cruel-you learned it before you could articulate what that even meant. You are grown up enough to recognize that things are wrong. But you will never be mature enough to make them right. Thankfully, you don't have to-Jesus came and did that for you.You may think your name is "Broken" but with Jesus it can be changed to "Child of God".

   "See what great love the Father has lavished on us that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!" 1 John 3:1a NIV

   I got your wood carved message on a peeling picnic table bottle, cast into the waves of a school yard, in the center of a city that all seems bent on ignoring you, burying you and your cry for help under endless waves of life. I saw your plea, and I am sending back my own message: typed and tossed into the frail bottle of a tiny blog, hurled into the unmeasurable depths of the internet. And you may never see it. But I can promise you this: no matter how broken you are, pieces scattered from here to the sun, He sees you and He is calling you by your true name.

"Now this is what the Lord says-the One who created you....Do not fear, for I have redeemed you: I have called you by your name: YOU ARE MINE." Isaiah 43:1 (paraphrase, emphasis mine)

   He sees. He knows. He heals. He repairs. He loves. And your true name is His.

                                                                                             Praying for you still-
                                                                                                              Clare

Back to School Scripture Printables

    So, a few days ago on Facebook (You don't follow Clare's Contemplations on Facebook? Go do that now and come back! ) I promised some "Back to School" printable verses. Well, I am happy to say, you need wait no longer! I am really happy with the way these turned out. The 2 Timothy verse is *very* "school", so I decided that I would make the James verse a little more seasonally neutral.

    I really wanted to celebrate the return to school aspect of September, so I pulled together a bunch of colorful school supplies I had around the house and paired them with colorful candy I found at Walmart. (It's actually "birthday" candy, you can find it in the card and gift wrap section, but the primary colors made it perfect for my theme!). I am really fond of using things I have around the house to put together different decor vignettes. It makes everything feel fresh, but doesn't cost much. Using candy is also fun, and because it's consumable I don't have to store it from year-to-year. An added bonus is that my husband loves having it around!

The James verse I put together with my globe and teacher's bell. I keep both these things displayed in my living room year-round, but putting them together with a stack of colorful classic books just makes it read "educational"! 

I also have a fun wreath that I put together, but I will save that for a different post. Are you decorating for back to school? Or do you prefer just going with autumn decor? Either way, let me know if you find a place for these printables! You should be able to just right-click on the images to save to your computer (I suggest saving to "Pictures") and then print from your saved location. You should be able to adjust the sizes of the printables to your preferred size. However, be aware that they may not print exactly to size. The 2 Timothy verse printed perfectly at an 8x10 size, I just had to cut off the excess paper. The James verse I printed at a 4x6 size which left the margins at the top and the bottom, but I liked how it looked so I left it that way. 

Do What You Can...

...with what you have. Such an easy thing to say. Such a difficult thing to do. A companion saying to, "Give God thanks with what is in your hands." We live in a culture that often seems to demand perfection, and I am guilty of buying into the lie that things not done perfectly should not be done at all. I would like to challenge that notion. What if perfection didn't look like what we have been told? What if perfection was really about something else?

    This has all been stirring around in my mind for quite a while now-I'm talking well over a year. It goes hand-in-hand with my struggle to define what failure really means. If you consider it with me, perfection is pretty much the opposite of failure to most of us, right? If you have done something perfectly, you get your desired results. That may be praise, power, fame, satisfaction, love... whatever it is you seek. Failure, on the other hand, means you do not get what you want. You may get a participant's ribbon, but you didn't win. You did not achieve your goals, you did not satisfy your desires. You failed.

   Harsh words, am I right? Because I won't lie-my goal is usually to win. And if there isn't tape to tear through at the end of the course then I search for someone, anyone, to define that end point for me. That may be friends and family, Facebook, magazines, radio,...you name it and at one time or the other I have tried to satisfy "their" expectations, whether real or imagined, and "win". It's a tough way to live. It is exhausting to try to be perfect all the time. And no one always wins. We all have moments of failure and defeat.

   And it leads to living scared. You don't do...much. Anything new, untried, unfamiliar. Those things could lead to failure. They are unknown quantities. I lived in constant fear that I would fail. And people don't like losers. Losers do not accomplish anything. And you must do things perfectly to win.

   It sounds so crazy to write it out, but anyone who has heard those thoughts in their own head knows that ration and reason are not usually companions to anxiety. The very nature of being anxious is to be afraid. And we are not afraid of what we know, but rather of the unknown, of the future. And often we are afraid of others-I can't control how you will act or respond, so it is better to avoid you than deal with my fear over not knowing what you will do.

    So we hold back. Countless opportunities are lost, moments wasted, paths not taken, because we might fail. We might not be "perfect". And it is hard for the Spirit of God to lead where there is a constant feeding of the spirit of fear. Those two...they aren't friends.

"For God has not given us a spirit of fearfulness, but one of power, love, and sound judgment." 2 Timothy 1:7 (HSCB)

    But what if we considered that success, perfection, winning...those things are not to be defined by the world, or even those around us. What if we considered that there is only One who can define those, and He has made us perfect?

"There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because He first loved us." 1 John 4:17-19 (NIV)

  If I am made perfect in love, that's all I need. I no longer need to live in fear that I will make mistakes and fail and be useless. It is easy to say, not so easy to do. But that is why I have decided that even though it isn't easy, either, I am going to try to do what I can with what I have. To praise God with what is in my hands, even I see it as imperfect, even if it feels strange. And new. And there are unknowns.

    And it is leading me to do some things that I never thought I would before. To talk to people that I don't know. To sing on the worship team, when there are so many others more qualified. Because these are my talents. No, not the things I am good at, but rather, talents as in the "Parable of the Talents". You know-where one servant gets five talents, another two and the last, only one. Well, I had a very wise pastor who once said he was "two-talent preacher". I thought that was strange, as I felt he was very qualified and successful (there's that word!). But he explained that he still was not the most talented pastor ever, however, he could use what he had, so neither was he hiding his one talent in the ground.

   That's me. With my two talents. In my open hands, hopefully. I don't want to bury what I have in the ground, even if it doesn't seem like much. I am perfectly loved, and so sometimes my failures can be successes. I am working at not allowing fear to keep me from giving of what is in my hands. Even if I don't know where it will lead.

   We went to an art fair a few days ago. Our city has a downtown area that is being restored and rejuvenated, and we followed a little path down under a very well-known bridge. We had never been down there before, and I was surprised by how quaint and peaceful it was. I was also very surprised, but for different reasons, by the scene at the bottom. There, underneath a pylon, was what can only be described as a camp. Someone had neatly spread out a sleeping bag, and carefully placed around it were a backpack, an ashtray, a water bottle, and other items clearly consisting of the entirety of someone's worldly possessions.

   My heart broke. All I could think is that this tiny pile of ragged belongings was all someone had to call "home". I have always had a tender spot towards homeless, but "they" say you shouldn't give money. Who knows what it could be used for? And "they" say that most of the time homeless are drug abusers, and vagabonds who wouldn't live any better if they could. "They" say they are liars and thieves, refusing to work because they are lazy. "They" say that there isn't much we can do for them.

    But you know what was in my hand? Figuratively and literally, a tiny bit of cash (which is, in itself a miracle, since I rarely have "real" money). And the tug on my heart could not be ignored. So I took those few little bills...mites, one might say, and I looked my fear in the face, not only of "them" but of disrupting, of inserting myself into someone else's story unwanted, and I decided that I would do what I could with what I had. And so, I took those tiny paper bits of faith, folded them up and placed them under that ashtray.

   And I don't know how that story ends. I don't know if I was "successful". I don't know that I did things "perfectly". I don't know if I "won". And I don't care. If you read this and think that I am looking for praise or recognition, you've missed the point. I only did it because I knew that I would be held accountable for not listening, for not heeding. And that is the only type of failure that I should be avoiding.

   And I'm not sorry. I realized that I should only be sorry for the times that I didn't. For the times that I have allowed the fear to drive out the love because I fed it, and watered it, and cuddled it close. That the only real failure is refusing to do not just something, but anything. It is a new way of thinking for me-this refusal to try to define everything as a "perfect success" or an "abysmal failure". To realize that following Jesus looks a lot more like mites, and cups of cold water, and two-talents, and saying, "no" but doing "yes", than it does like gold medals, and award trophies and titles and wealth.

   That following Jesus means opening my hands and doing what I can with what I have...over and over again. Until He comes. Because He is perfect, and that is the only way I can truly become more like Him...