It has been a while... The forty days of optimism stretched into many more than that and continue to weave a fresh pattern in the fabric of my life. Lately, the topic of brokenness has been on my mind. We all experience it. We all have choices about what we do with it -- how we use it.
One of my favorite books is
Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan. It's not on the New York Times best seller list -- in fact it's not new at all. It's not a fast-paced, action-oriented potential script for a Hollywood movie. But it is something that keeps drawing me back, year after year. A favorite character is Mr. Valiant For Truth. As his pilgrimage draws to a close, he offers some parting thoughts. Here is the well-loved excerpt:
"After this it was noised abroad that Mr Valiant-for-truth was taken with a Summons by the same Post as the other, and had this for a Token that the Summons was true, That his Pitcher was broken at the Fountain. When he understood it, he called for his Friends, and told them of it. Then said he, I am going to my Father's, and though with great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the Trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My Sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my Pilgrimage, and my Courage and Skill to him that can get it. My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles who now will be my Rewarder.When the day that he must go hence was come, many accompanied him to the Riverside, into which as he went he said, Death, where is thy Sting? And as he went down deeper he said, Grave, where is thy Victory? So he passed over, and all the Trumpets sounded for him on the other side."There it is -- that line that makes me tear up every time, "My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles..."
Everything else was given away, but the marks and scars -- the defining experiences, emotions, events that left visible evidence were carried on as a reminder that there was a greater purpose.
The marks and scars of my own life -- like those of may other people -- are deeply carved on my spirit. They are not beautiful, nor poetic, but they have deep meaning and are continually at work shaping who I am and how I relate to other people. The important thing seems to be not what they are as much as what they mean, whose battles they represent, and how I allow God to use them for purposes that may have nothing to do with me.
As the years unfold, one begins to realize that it is not our wholeness, but our brokenness, not our perfection but our imperfections, not our successes but our missteps that set our pilgrim feet on the path to true fulfillment. Brokenness and imperfections and missteps are not the fun part of the journey -- especially in the immediate experience. But in the restoration of those things, in the realization that experience (even the heart-shattering kind) can be redeemed, we find the real juice and joy of life which is getting out of ourselves and aligning our purposes with those of One with scarred hands and feet.
