“You should go back,” she said.

She had no idea what she was asking me to do. She wasn’t telling me I should go see a beautiful mountain waterfall or drive a few miles out of my way to see a collection of Cadillacs stuck into the ground. She was telling me to go back—back there.

She isn’t the kind of friend who gives advice. She’s more of the “quietly stand by and support you” type of friend. The one who will do anything you ask, and thank you for letting her do it—and never ask you to do anything in return.

When she says you should go back there—you start thinking about going back there.

The place where I first knew I was broken

But, I didn’t want to go back.

That was the place where I first knew I was broken. Notice I didn’t say it was the place where I first broke.

I’d been broken a long time before that place. I just didn’t know it.

Leah and the Island of Misfit Toys

I loved the Rankin/Bass Christmas specials as a child. Santa Claus is Coming to Town was always my favorite. But Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer always made me uncomfortable.

I always thought it was because the whole show is just plain mean. The tribe of “all of the other reindeer” who laugh and call poor Rudolph names includes his very own father and—even worse—Santa Claus himself. I was a nice girl, and I was uncomfortable with the meanness. Especially from people who were supposed to be heroes.

I realize, now, that my discomfort was from something else entirely. The whole show is about misfits, and the mean streak in mainstream characters is the most important part of the story. I didn’t like it. Not at all.

In one scene, our three heroes discover an island inhabited by quirky toys in exile. The misfit toys, led by a Charlie-in-the-box, share their longing for Santa Claus to whisk them away to girls and boys who will love them in spite of their oddities. Our main characters include Rudolph, with his red nose, Hermey, an elf who wants to be a dentist, and Yukon Cornelius, the prospector, who sings about silver and gold, but longs to find peppermint. Misfits themselves, they empathize with the toys and carry their request back to Santa.

I watched the special every year when I was growing up—and when I had children, I made sure they watched it as well. I wanted to be the person whose compassion and sense of justice were stirred by this classic story. But secretly, I wondered, “What kid would want those toys?”

I had a similar visceral response to the story of Leah in the biblical book of Genesis. No compassion. Jacob loved Rachel, and Leah needed to get over it, stop whining, and give her children better names (if you don’t know Leah’s story, read Genesis 39-49 in the Bible).

It wasn’t until I knew how broken I was that I began to understand my discomfort with Leah and the misfit toys. It turns out, I wasn’t a nice girl uncomfortable with meanness. I was a mean girl uncomfortable with brokenness. Broken Leah. Broken toys. Broken me.

I wasn’t a nice girl
uncomfortable with meanness.
I was a mean girl
uncomfortable with brokenness.

crg

The misfit image builder

I was an image builder. I’d spent a lifetime building and polishing my nice girl image. I desperately needed it—because it hid my brokenness. From the world’s eyes. From my eyes.

I was uncomfortable with Leah and the misfit toys because if I loved them in their brokenness, I might have to love myself in mine as well.

Once seen, the flaws are glaring

I vividly remember when I saw the first crack in my image and discovered I was broken. I was in our attic, looking for something random, and I found a piece of paper that shattered my illusions.

The memory is thirty years old, and I’ve experienced so much more brokenness and God’s healing since that time. Yet, I still feel the rawness of it in my gut when I think about that moment of revelation. My belief in the image I’d built felt that solid and certain—and my first glimpse of what was behind it was devastating.

Back to that place I never wanted to be

It took me a year after my friend’s suggestion. But I went back.

It was as bad as I’d expected it to be.

I parked across the street from the house with the attic. And I felt every feel I’d felt when I first saw the brokenness.

“It really was bad, wasn’t it, God?”

“Yes, it was.”

It was bad, but, God is good.

In his fierce lovingkindness, he’d prepared me. Before he took me to the house with the attic, he surrounded me with people of love.

We talked for hours the night before. We reminisced and caught up. We laughed a lot, but we cried a little, too. We had all been through some hard times while we’d been apart. We’d rejoiced as well.

They asked about my work and listened as I shared. They wanted to know how to support me. They bought copies of my books, and put their names on my mail list.

And at the end of the night, they gathered around me, and they prayed for me.

It was sweet. Precious. Life-giving. It affirmed the call God had given me.

While they were worshiping the Lord and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them.” Then after fasting and praying they laid their hands on them and sent them off.

ACTS 13:2-3 (ESV)

As I drove away from the town where both the house with the attic and the people of love live—I cranked up my Morning Mercies playlist and sang along. I followed that with my New Morning Mercies playlist. The singing and the praising carried me all the way to my next destination.

The first playlist reminds me of the year after my husband died, when I had to be reminded that God’s mercies were new each morning. The second list reminds me that he’s continued showing me those new mercies every day since that first year. The songs are about brokenness. They’re about God’s grace. They’re about healing.

Just like going back to that place was. The place of brokenness I dreaded turned out to be a place of God’s new mercies.

Come Alongside

Truth is, we’re all broken. It’s why we need a Savior. Seeing our brokenness is what makes us turn to Jesus to be made whole. I will never love what broke me, but I will be forever grateful for where it took me and who it’s made me.

Will you come alongside me today, and take some time today to thank Jesus for finding you and loving you in your brokenness? Take a minute to touch your scars, and ask God to show you where he’s healed you.

If you haven’t met Jesus, and don’t know his healing, find a friend who does know him, and let them surround you with his love. Cry a little. Pray together. If you don’t have a friend like that, message me. I’d be honored to talk with you.

As always, I’d also love to hear your thoughts and experiences in the comments! I love you, and all your quirks and broken places–from the bottom of my misfit heart.

Traveling in Grace,

Christi