I love the broken ones.
Losing my first born daughter stripped every ounce of artificiality out of me. I no longer cared for the ridiculous image of perfection that society told me I needed to have. I refused to hide my wounds, shortcomings, and struggles. I didn’t care if the world saw my brokenness. Truthfully, I now look at the broken, and painfully authentic parts of myself as the most beautiful.
I’ve noticed myself seeking those broken pieces in others a lot lately. It makes their beauty shine brighter. I want to hear how they have risen from the ashes, and maintained hope against all odds.
Life is messy. This world is full of heartache. At some point, we all will reach a place we never imagined we would end up. That’s not me being negative, it’s me being realistic. Putting up a facade and pretending everything is fine doesn’t bring you out of the darkness. It forces you stand in isolation as the rest of the world spins around you.
Don’t be afraid of your brokenness. Don’t run from your heartache. Hold it in your hands, become familiar with it, and tell it how much stronger you are.
Then tell all of us. Show me what you’ve overcome. Let us see the full magnitude of your joy. Don’t let me congratulate you on your accomplishments without telling me about the deep waters you swam through to get here.
I think that’s why I really love the broken ones. Their joy is far greater, and runs much deeper.