Many who are broken prey upon other broken ones to make themselves feel whole. They will say and do anything to get what they want/need to fill the gaping craters of emptiness within them caused by life’s traumas, disappointments, and tragedies. Instead of looking within themselves and reconciling their own brokenness, they look outward and drain other broken souls trying desperately to be healed. And while they don’t mean to cause harm, they do. They break down other broken souls even lower than they already are, all the while realizing that they don’t feel any better , any “whole-er” than they did before they began. So, broken souls break other broken souls and never get the healing that they need because they’re tapping into the wrong source. But in spite of our misguided, human attempts at achieving wholeness, God is still our safe place. No matter what lies have been told to you, about you, or even that you’ve told (to others or to yourself), God is still our refuge and there is shelter, grace, mercy, peace, and healing under his Almighty wings. Today is Resurrection Sunday. It’s time to allow God to resurrect the purpose He has ordained for your life. But first, you have to seek refuge in that safe place, stop lying to yourself, and allow God to show you who you are now, so you can become the you you’re destined to be! There is healing in the SAFE PLACE of Christ Jesus! (Thank you, Bishop George and Pastor Mary Searight)!
Must Look the Part
No one warns us about the silent, deadly damage of unacknowledged brokenness,
Or the miles of gaping wide potholes it leaves in our hearts
Like iron chains that reach way down into the depths of our souls.
In their hasty discomfort, they wrap their wounds in charade-drenched cloaks
While forcing us to swallow the bitter bile of our fractured foundations.
As we sup at the devil’s table,
Dining on lascivious lies and listening to the elders recount the sanitized version of our familial follies,
Not yet grasping the toll of so much human-inflicted carnage.
All are expected to readily participate in this putrid pot luck,
Neatly attired in our tailored threads of denial,
While the elders, knives and forks in hand, delicately dine on the remnants of our dignity.
“Chop! Chop! We must look the part!
No matter the poisonous dysfunction we’ve been forced to consume!
No, no! We mustn’t appear as shattered as we truly are!”
Our internal injuries continue to fester and any hope for healing bleeds out into our bellies,
And the pus of his filthy perdition now flows through our veins instead.
How do we love when we’ve only known this damaged brokenness that bruised our collective psyche?
How unfortunate for those who love us,
To sup at our infected table of lascivious lies.
It’s only a matter of time before we break you, too.