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Peace Seeker: Brokenness & Words

As I begin another blog, my mind still can’t settle on a topic.

My Facebook feed is full of heated emotions. All varying topics.

The one group is upset about a scandal.

And others about immigration.

Others about personal issues.

We all have passion. We all have strong feelings and we all have an opinion, a side we deem correct.

We all feel strongly that we are definitely right.

I won’t touch on the political issues, I enjoy a healthy and educational debate but not on this forum.

I won’t talk about the scandal, it’s not my business.

And this is no place to reveal others personal problems.

This is a place for me to pause, to ask you to pause, and to share some insight. To share my heart with you. So grab a cup of coffee or tea, and let’s chat.

As I grow older, I see more. Not because my eyes are improving, but because I am seeing differently.

I see brokenness, pain. I see people reacting and speaking from places of deep hurt.

And my heart hurts.

There are stoic and legalistic folks. Ones who have maybe buried their hurts and their reactions are usually less soft hearted. I haven’t quite figured them out.

Stoic and legalistic folks and I don’t get along. And here is a fun fact, by husband can be that way.

The brokenness that surrounds us, why are so many of us turning blind eyes? Why do we “stick to our guns” and refuse to open our eyes to someone else’s pain.

Could it be that we can’t?

On Saturday my husband got a skidloader and we began ripping out deep roots from trees we had cut down. There were rocks and stones, weeds, roots, and worms. Deep, deep roots that we worked hard to pull out. He used an axe to chop some of the roots off. And as will happens my son tripped and fell. His hand landed on the axe blade.

He handled his injury really well. And thankfully he doesn’t freak out about band aids.

As I washed the dirt from his cut, his tears flowed and his eyes gave away the pain he felt. And my heart broke. It’s hard to see your child hurting and knowing that temporarily YOU are the cause of their pain.

And I think of all the broken people, ones who had their pain dismissed or shoved aside. We fail to help the ones with emotional pains, the ones with wounds that aren’t physically bleeding and oozing.

And then these injuries get stuffed, a small bandaid over the gaping brokenness and then we react from that brokenness. We react to everything from that brokenness.

At least, it’s something I struggle with.

I see the posts on Facebook. And many of you have valid points for whatever it is you feel passionately about.

But I am asking. Requesting nicely.

Pause.

Hear the other person.

We allow the one broken part of us to fester, the roots of hurt can go for miles.

Miles.

Because of my story, I struggle to trust men. I struggle to respect men. I struggle to be respectful and kind, especially if I feel disrespected or dismissed.

I see so much name calling and hate toward folks who view life differently than us.

Stop.

Please. Stop.

Instead try to pause.

There is no defense for evil. Ther3 is no defense for sin.

We are sinners living in a broken and sin cursed world. From that moment when Satan presented a temptation to Eve and she took it, the world became a broken place.

And everyone is broken and hurt in some way. That’s the other thing I realize as I read everyone’s posts, hear them speak.

We don’t all share our hurts publicly. I imagine at some point, someone will come against me for my words. I share because there are others of you, suffering a pain similar to mine and you wonder if life will be okay.

It will.

And I am here for you.

You are not alone in your brokenness.

You are not the only one.

As I close, I hope this resonates with you. I hope you can see God and His love through these words.

I hope you understand that I am not excusing sin or hate. I am asking that you remember we are ALL broken and wounded, and reacting from our individual life stories thus far.

Now I must close. There is a water balloon fight, and 3, 6, and 7 year old clamoring to get wet. Summer sounds of water splashing and “No, Callan!!” resonate with tears and sobs from the 3 year old.

Happy Tuesday.

Love, Rachelle

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