What the Winds Don't Know

And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. -- Matthew 14:32

"Share one of your most embarrassing moments."


I was in a circle with a bunch of strangers at a workshop and that was the icebreaker question. Hit me with a glacier, will you? I was glad the facilitator said "one of" and not "the." My mind raced as I worked to sort through a long life of potential icebreaker break-through moments. Let's see. How about the time when I got off the school bus to find my stepfather laying on the lawn in his underwear?  True . . . he's the one who should have been beet red, but he already had his mid-day numb on.  


Decades later that moment is not so much embarrassing as sad. I can look back now and see that he was a man who sailed off course and could navigate only towards the eventual abyss. His approach to life was a mix of "I am . . ." and "Don't you mess with me."  "I" and "me" became "was" way too early perhaps for him, but much to the relief of others. So . . . sad indeed. He was clearly focused -- or as close as he ever got to it -- on the wrong "I am."


I can't remember what I shared in the group that day, (bed-wetting on a scout camp-out?) or if I took a pass and just kept sliding along on the ice, looking for a way out. I don't remember the tales of embarrassing moments others shared either, but, after all, we weren't there for therapy. I'm sure there was some uproarious ice-breaking before we got down to the business of work. I don't remember what that was either. The work.


Some things though, I don't forget. Sometimes when I am alone with my thoughts -- which is all too often -- I confront the reality of how embarrassing my sexual brokenness has been to some, especially my children. For me, it was an overwhelming burden that had me slyly maneuvering down the curvy road with a shifting load, controls set for careening. Hopefully, my four sons and my daughter will resist the opportunity to talk about it as an ice-breaker somewhere and will instead find encouragement and support from those called by God. Some things only God can heal. 


Ironically, friends and family members find themselves drifting into the same void as the struggler when it comes to real help. Amateur counselors, well-meaning and not-so, wring hands and loan shoulders, which is good, but also unload ignorant advice that should have been shelved in favor of just listening.  In an area where most understand little, they spring forward into this confusing tragedy like a person who stumbles on an accident and moves the broken person to a place of comfort, perhaps piercing his lung in the process. We are not all equipped to fix everything.  Families have been further divided and marriages ended by silly words of others desperate to . . . say something. If wisdom is absent, conjure up a platitude or two. If you are not called, don't go. If you are called, learn the way.


Embarrassing stepping-stones are plentiful on the path to healing. Spiritually, it can be a bit like parading down the hall of the hospital in saggy grey socks with your hair in disarray and the back of your gown flapping open for unwary audiences who don't deserve to be subjected. Eventually you settle back into the room to face the big hypodermic of truth, the long therapy of repentance and the reality that some of the more phobic will never visit . . . perhaps for the rest of your life. Sweet though, is recovering your bearings and returning to the road.


Sometimes we have to stumble, barely breathing, into the shelter from the storm.  Buffeted by the winds of culture; told by the enlightened that we should accept our temptations as healthy expressions of our inner selves . . . and act on them . . . just be yourself . . . stop this backward thinking . . . and live free. After all, no one really knows you like you so you be you. In the meantime, we're to reject the truth of the Bible and sharpen our self-defense by parroting perceived inconsistencies in an attempt to throw Christians off their game. When confronted, just ask a lot of ambiguous questions about why Jesus didn't say this and that . . . and then look them in the eye and say "If you really believed the Word of God, you'd never trim your beard or mix polyester and cotton.  So there. I win."


And the wind blows. Where it goes, nobody knows.


Well . . . God knows.

But God remembered Noah and all the wild animals and the livestock that were with him in the ark, and he sent a wind over the earth, and the waters receded. -- Genesis 8:1

God remembered. It was time for a new wind.

The men were amazed and asked, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!” -- Matthew 8:27.

These are the consistencies I like. God shows over and over that He can use the wind as He wills. And, even if the wind is the wind of culture, He will. 

I think people who struggle with sexual brokenness in the 21st century are in the center of a whirlwind, choking on dust, dodging debris, gasping for breath, wanting to slow down enough to focus and find a way into a gentler breeze.

The eastern winds of enlightened affirmation -- "You were made this way and it is a personal affront to all who are like you when you engage in the foolishness of denial. You cannot change, nor should you want to. Quit falling for the misleading doctrine of a bunch of people who are following a myth."

The western winds of arrogant disgust -- "God did not intend for you to be this way and you need to surrender to Him so He can change you from the evil person you are to be like us.  You are an abomination and if you don't change now, you're headed for a sad life and total destruction. Get thee behind me."

The northern winds of blissful apathy -- "Just be happy in your brokenness. We're all broken anyway.  The important thing is to be happy.  I love you just the way you are, honey."

The southern winds of willful ignorance-- "It's not my thing, but who am I to judge? As long as it doesn't hurt me or force me to change what I do, I'm cool. Can't we all just get along?"


And the swirl goes on:  "You're beautiful . . . you're sickening . . . you're fine . . . who cares?"

What's wrong?  Are you dizzy?

But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!” -- Matthew 14:30.

The most distressing thing I have discovered in this journey is the parallel roads on which some believers and most non-believers travel. For instance, when it comes to homosexuality, too many believers doubt that anyone can change and most non-believer's believe they definitely cannot. These views differ only because one carries judgment and the other affirms. 


It's discouraging to see some Christians say that with God all things are possible, but, just for safety's sake, we need a bit of distance. But . . . really . . . if God changes you and all is well, we want to know, so we can celebrate with you and give God the glory. How will we know?  Oh . . . we'll know. God will reveal it to us.


Like, for some reason, God would not reveal it first to the struggler crying out?


It's also discouraging to see the non-believers who find that when they have run enough times around the circle, the easy exit is to declare that God doesn't exist and therefore we are what we are because it just happened that way. I guess if you believe that all of creation just came from a mess, then none of creation is really a mess. It's all good and we feel just fine about it. Thank God there's no God to make us doubt, like Christians do.


Okay . . . that's the discouraging stuff about which many need to pray . . . or at least those in the first group, who know they have Someone to whom they can pray. God knows we can do better, both as strugglers and as wannabe rescuers.


So, what is encouraging?


People who seek people who seek the Lord's truth and deliver it with compassion. 


The truth is, no, you cannot satisfy your outside-of-marriage sexual temptations. (Marriage being defined as one man-one-woman in a monogamous relationship for life.) And that means all of those temptations, including those of the teens and singles -- heterosexual and homosexual -- who want to sleep around, the good old guys who sneak porn fixes and applaud themselves for maintaining the sanctity of marriage, the men and women who secretly lust after the guys and gals walking by in the parking lot, the serial masturbator, and yes, the men and women inflicted with a same-sex attraction they did not choose . . . but must choose to resist.


Grace is sufficient for all of us. I want it . . . I accept it . . . but I need it no more than you do. There's plenty. It opens the door to confession and repentance . . . and calm.


The winds don't know the condition of the target's soul when they blow this way and that in an effort to steer or flatten, carry or blow away. So be the calm. Like Christ.

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. -- Mark 4:39.

Scared?  Be calm.

Uncomfortable? Be calm.

Uncertain? Be calm.

Tempted? Be calm.

Angry? Be calm.

Hurt? Be calm.

Embarrassed? Be calm.

Guilty? Be calm.

He who calmed the seas can handle all of these.

Rebuking got the attention of the wind and the waves. Truth -- the words of the Savior -- prompted action. The waves could do nothing until the wind obeyed. The fear of drowning ceased.


We're not doing very well with the issue of sexual brokenness and, like sharks in the water, culture is circling the bloody mess we're making. We can do better. It's not as hard as you think to love people Christ loves as much as He loves you. 


People are drowning. If all we do is rebuke and do not do so with truth, which requires much follow-up, then the overwhelming waves will wear them down instead of the calm that could have lifted them up. Take it from one who dog-paddled for far too long.


God Bless,


Thom


(Seriously, if you really want to understand the work of grace in the healing of the sexually-broken, I hope you will order a copy of Surviving Sexual Brokenness: What Grace Can Do.  One for you, one for your pastor and one for your church-library. Only $11.16 right now at Amazon.com.  God Bless.)












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Storing Up Stones in Places of Grace

"

"I don't need this."
"I don't want this."
"I hate this."
"What is this?"
Where did this come from?"
Why do I have this?
"Whose is this?"
"This hurts."
"I remember this."
"I didn't ask for this."
"Where should I put . . . this?"
One thing is for certain: there really is a lot of this.

I grew up in a family that accepted transition as a stable state of being. If I begin on Texas Street -- the first house I really remember -- I can close my eyes, unfold the memory map, and wind my mind down the roads of yesterday through tiny towns and sprawling cities, spooky old houses to paper-thin-walled apartments, rolling yards and willow trees to parking lots so close our headlights almost touched the front door. Sometimes we lived among people who cared -- like a grandmother down the hall -- or ones who just stared, like the woman in a lawn chair smoking in the dark outside the door next door. Sometimes we had stuff: matching colonial bunk beds and nightstands . . . and sometimes we had borrowed beds and crates. We culled our things based on the size of the U-Haul and the amount still owed when it was time to move on . . . and we moved on, leaving a bit of "this" behind in alleys everywhere. Detaching was as easy as attaching.

Pity me not, for I am rich with memories far greater than the mass of stuff I might have stored up in their place.  Some of the memories are painful, yes, but when sifted with the others -- like swirling together shades of paint, it is a color I can live with on the walls of my life.

It is the splash of clashing color here and there, left uncovered, that bothers me. I have painted around them, left them on a to-do-list, waiting for a better brush perhaps, or a taller ladder to stand on, or, thought I might re-do that wall in that color and let it become me. No. Not this time.

We should gather up all the reckless words that are splattered on our walls of consciousness like rocks along a creek bank and chuck them in, listening to the plunk as they hit the water and slide to the bottom, invisible.  You would think forgiveness would do that. Forgive and forget, for words will never . . . desert me. Like all those old addresses, we should leave these stone houses behind and not live there anymore, but instead, the words refuse to relinquish the view when we are panning the horizon for a new road.

We have done . . . they have said. Which will linger?  The deed or the description and declaration of it?  Even if it were possible to move permanently into a pattern of purity, the sting of description would cast its shadow on that land. Whether we were proclaimed by those who struggle with "lesser things" as just weak and self-serving . . . or were dismissed as an apostate beyond redemption for having succumbed to repetitive sin -- the crop of our addiction -- the words and labels affix themselves.  The cruel eye-jabbing by Christians who become absorbed in the failings of others -- "You've sinned against all Christianity for all eternity" -- pierces the heart and builds a wall the sinner never could.

If we let it.

I think one of the most difficult steps a struggler takes is learning to listen . . . and not.  Listen to God. Listen to those God sends your way to speak on His behalf. Listen to the Holy Spirit speaking in your stillness when you close the shutters to the outside interference. Listen to God's Word. Listen to those who have walked your path and know the pull and pain . . . but are finding victory and want to share it.

Don't listen to those old echoes that Satan whispers into your hopeful thoughts.  If I allow all the things that have been said to me and said about me and predicted of me to swirl around in my mind, they become like a whirlpool and I am swiftly drawn under, away from God's truths to Satan's lies. It really doesn't matter whether the words were thrown our way in justified anger, reactionary pain for the hurt we caused, or just in the releasing of the air of Christian superiority from the supposed unfallen, they all pile up like stones to ground our souls from soaring, tethering us to the past.

Even when we have been dismissed by some as beyond hope . . . and find ourselves the target of their judgmental silence . . . we hang on to the words they once used in misguided motivational efforts to shock or shame us into freedom.  Echoes, stored for later reverberation. Preserved syllables that slip out to form an obstacle course for hope.

Here are words to remember . . . which have hopefully been said to you:

Jesus loves you.
Jesus redeems.
Jesus restores.
Jesus forgives.
Jesus knows.
Jesus hears.
Jesus wept.
Jesus paid.
Jesus can.
Jesus will.
Jesus has.
Jesus is.

Words to forget . . . which may have been said to you:

Uh . . . uhh.  Not here.  Forget those. They may have been justified at the time; the shock value may have jolted you into a real desire for repentance. You may have needed to hear them at the time to force you out of denial, to face the falsehood and find a thirst for the truth. Maybe those words woke you up to who you were. But . . . if you are moving on, then repeating them to yourself now only takes you back to there. Don't go.

Much like taking our sins to the cross, we need to load up a bunch of hurtful words and leave them there also. Words we said, either in defense or defiance, and words launched at us like heart-seeking missiles which we pretended to dodge, but which lodged deep inside us.

Here are some words I hope you have heard and will hear from a brother or sister in Christ and that you will never forget:

"I love you."
"I forgive you."
"I am here."

Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment! James 2:12-13

Mercy triumphs.

But He gives us more grace. That is why Scripture says:

“God opposes the proud 

   but shows favor to the humble." -- James 4:6

Grace is abundant.


Christians, no matter how sanctified and justified, need to "practice" mercy and grace. We don't come across these traits naturally. If we did, we would not need that still-small-voice inside us that occasionally puts a finger to our lips and hushes our natural ways so we can hear beyond ourselves and know that there are thoughts beyond our own which are better and purer, able to do more than point out faults . . . and indeed, point to promises.

Stop for just a moment and try really, really hard to believe, first of all, that God loves you beyond all your imagining and enough to have created all there is and you because of that love. Then try to think of what He wants to say to you.  His voice is greater than all those others that will rush in to fill the void of silent waiting. So, wait.  Hear Him?

That's grace . . . the fact that no matter what you've done or who has spoken of it and judged you for it and believes you can never move beyond it . . . He speaks the truth to you about it . . . and about you. And about what the two of you can do.  About . . . even . . . this.

You have searched me, Lord, and You know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; You perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; You are familiar with all my ways. -- Psalm 139: 1-3

To God, we are not a passing thought, a momentary project. He does not move on. He knows not, "oh, well." He searches us. He is familiar with all our ways. He knows us.

Based on all of that, He always knows what to say if we will but clear the clutter that clogs our ears, and listen.  

What a sweet, sweet sound.

God Bless,

Thom


(I'm now available to speak to your group or your church. Just e-mail me at th2950@yahoo.com for details.  Thanks!)

The Graceless Gospel of Guilt

'Why have you despised the word of the Lord by doing evil in His sight? You have struck down Uriah the Hittite with the sword, have taken his wife to be your wife, and have killed him with the sword of the sons of Ammon. -- 2 Samuel 12:9 

Those words were spoken by Nathan at the request of the Lord to directly rebuke King David, forbearer of Jesus Christ, declared him guilty of lying, adultery and murder.  A boatload of clearly-earned guilt for which he deserved to die.

Some people do.

I think guilt may have killed my father.  Not specific guilt for a specific action . . . but just the guilt of not being all he could have been, for not making more of himself, for not rising above, climbing higher, grasping the golden ring, for not meeting the expectations of others or even of himself.  I used to think it was alcohol, but now I believe it may have been guilt.  Not guilt over alcohol, but just plain old guilt.  That "not-good-enough" guilt.  Falling too short too often . . . and too witnessed.   Each time he lowered his bar, the bar against which it was measured, was raised.  The vitality and hope of an adventurous boy swallowed up by the reality of a time-diminished lack of  . . . hope.  He just dimmed and flickered out. 

The gospel of guilt:  "From him who fails much, much failure is expected."

I wish he had known that there is a cure for even a brokenness as consistent as his.  Had I known then what I know now, I would have told him so . . . and perhaps he could have fought through it in this life and strode into eternity less-burdened . . . acknowledging that guilt is one of those odd gifts we give to the King.  We hand Him our guilt; He sees our hidden hope and covers our guilt with His grace, so we too can see that hope.

How many men and women long to demonstrate a good soul, but never seem to make it onto the stage?  Or they stride to the middle, stand in the glare of the spotlight and are booed into the silence before the first act begins?  In the quietness of their minds, they say "I really am a good person.  Really."

But the audience is ready for the next act. 

On the flip side of the guilt-ridden are the guilt-riding.  Instead of letting their own bad feelings get them down, they use those bad feelings to take others down.  Such was my first stepfather.  I'm not sure he ever really felt bad about anything he did . . . but he sure made you feel bad for him.  He's the only person I ever knew who could awaken out a drunk stupor and cuss about the boss who fired him for not showing up at work and the wife who had let him run out of cigarettes and whiskey.  It was always someone else's fault that he was unable to have his bad habits and his good dreams in tandem.  He would damn everyone around him and then demand a drink.

I wish I had known back then what I know now about guilt.  And about grace.  Guilt kills.  Grace restores. 

If anyone should ever have succumbed to the debilitating misery of guilt, it should have been King David.  He goes from the glory of killing Goliath and being hailed as a hero and warrior to the gritty grossness of using his ordained power to satisfy his own temptations by first spying on his neighbor's wife, committing adultery with her, making her pregnant, trying to disown the child by tricking the husband, and then, when all else fails, he puts the husband in a position to be killed.  All to cover-up, not own-up, to his sin. 

And we would say to David:  "Boy . . . you are as guilty as sin."  He was.  It's enough to send you into hiding in a cave somewhere.  David was no stranger to hiding in caves, having fled there before in fear.  What does guilt produce but fear? 

And then there's grace.  Grace brings you back out of the cave, if you accept it.  If it can penetrate the walls of piled on guilt.  If the warriors of the Gospel of Guilt don't stand outside the cave with swords of righteousness and slice grace down to a meaningless morsel and drive you back inside.  That's not the armor of God they're bearing.

Some people equate a moral compass with a guilt compass.  But they're not the same.  With a guilt compass, the arrow points always downward and no matter how you turn it . . . it leads you no-where.  The grace compass?  Due north.  Out of the cave.  Down the highway.  Back to the cross.

Guilt?
Grace?

I would rather be foolish or boring or simple or clumsy or slow or even ignorant . . . than guilty.  I don't really want to be any of those things, of course, but have been at one time or another.  I've been the fool, the bore, the clown, the simple-minded, slow-to-catch-on and the not-so-blissfully ignorant, all of which can lead to painful lessons  . . . and moving on.  Fool myself once, shame on me.  Fool myself over and over again . . . guilt.

Now . . . don't think I believe there is no retribution for sin.  David's path to redemption was not an easy one and we should have no expectations that ours will be.  Consequences are . . . consequential. No matter how secret our sin, it is not beyond the full attention of God.  Our consequences can be glaringly public.

Indeed you did it secretly, but I will do this thing before all Israel, and under the sun.  Then David said to Nathan, "I have sinned against the Lord " And Nathan said to David, "The Lord also has taken away your sin; you shall not die.  However, because by this deed you have given occasion to the enemies of the Lord to blaspheme, the child also that is born to you shall surely die." -- 2 Samuel 12:12-14 

The consequences of our sins often extend to others.

When we rise into grace, we may stand on legs with bloody knees and extend scraped palms.  This is where the healing begins.  Not in the dark recesses of the cave where we shiver in the dark, but in the light, where the pain begins to absorb the warmth of grace and we display our wounds and pray for healing.  I just think that sometimes we look to the left and the right for someone to tell us how to get out of this pit of sorry guilt . . . and we need to look up.  For correction and mercy and the courage to embrace grace.

He who conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy. -- Proverbs 28:13

Yelling for mercy at the top of your lungs is a good thing.  Just realize that God is not the only one listening.  People have motivations, even if the stated goal is to assist in your restoration.  Some are angry because "you should have listened to me in the first place."  Some are frustrated because "you brought this on yourself."  Others are just baffled because "the right way was as plain as the nose on your face."  Others get a bit puffed up and want to set you on the path to righteousness so they can put another victory cup on their mantle.  Others want revenge because of the pain or the embarrassment your trip into guilt caused them personally.  Some are striking back out of their own pain because you betrayed them.  And then, there are some who just can't resist valuing retribution over restoration, making an example of you so others won't find themselves in your dismal state.

So . . . what happens to the downtrodden when he creeps out of the cave and gets hit with these misguided yet understandable motivations masquerading as "welcome back?"

Guilt.  And a laundry list designed to work him back into the good graces of the re-vamped condemners.  Do we want good graces or grace?

God's motivations are pure.  He loves us and wants us back.  He wants us to trust Him above all, cast aside all those things we think we know . . . and know Him first.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. -- Proverbs 3:5-6

Making the paths straight can involve working through some pretty serious consequences encountered as a result of our descent into the pit of guilt.  But . . . He loves us so much He even walks with us through those consequences with the same unwavering love He used to coax us out of the cave.  Cleaning up the mess we make is a community effort . . . communing with God, hanging close, keeping Him near, looking through His eyes to see the raging river of chaos as crossable and trusting those He brings into our lives to help carry us across.

He's called Emmanual -- God with us -- for a reason.  He knows our propensity to head back down the guilty road.  And, if we insist on leading, He'll go there with us.  But if we let Him lead, the road is straight to grace. We don't deserve it, especially after all the plundering, but it is because we don't deserve it that we get it.  If we tried to earn it, we'd just feel guilty because we didn't do it right.

So . . am I saying that people are of no use to us as we pursue grace?  Not at all.  God works in the ways He wills . . . and sometimes He wills to use the most wonderful, grace-filled, straight-talking people in our lives to help us right ourselves, to stand on each side of us as we wobble along our way, to give stability and instruction, to sharpen our dullness back to a useful edge, to clean out the clutter, to sweep away the layers of deceitful dust.

For this reason I, Paul, the prisoner of Christ Jesus for the sake of you Gentiles -- if indeed you have heard of the stewardship of God's grace which was given to me for you; that by revelation there was made known to me the mystery, as I wrote before in brief.

-- Ephesians 3:1-2

God used Paul to extend His grace.  We recognize the ones He wills to work in our lives when we realize their motivation matches His:  love.  And it is grace that allows us to accept the love of others and of God at the points in our lives when we feel our least-deserving.  Wait on it.  Don't rush headlong into the hands of the peddlers of guilt; wait for the enveloping arms of the offerers of grace.  Love will take your hand.

I received one piece of advice from the peddlers of guilt that has, in time, actually proven to be a bit of help: "Now that you know it is wrong . . . just don't do it anymore."  That was a callous comment, but, in the context of grace, it works.  We have to know.  And we have to stop.  Unfortunately, the comment usually comes packaged like airplane model parts in a box without directions on how to put them together.  Pieces of plastic.  No clue what to glue to what.  It's easier to put everything back in the box and tape down the lid.

If we learn and we listen, "now that you know what is wrong" becomes "now that you know what is right."  And "don't" becomes "do."   God's Word unfolds like long-lost directions, with grace as the glue.  The pieces fit together.

Feeling guilty does not set us free.  Equipping sets us free. 

A GPS -- Global Positioning System -- will not get us back to the throne of grace.  But a GPS -- Grace Per Salvation -- will guide us there.  It's easier to leave the cave when you know where you're going. 

I don't know what you've done.  I don't know who you hurt. I don't know who you betrayed.  I don't know what all you did to cover-up your trail, though I doubt that you killed someone in the cover-up, like David did.  But, I do know that if your path to freedom from habitual sinning is blocked by piles of guilt, whether collected and placed there by you or carted in and arranged by others, it is not God's intent that you remain behind that wall.

Then David said to Nathan, "I have sinned against the Lord " And Nathan said to David, "The Lord also has taken away your sin; you shall not die. -- 2 Samuel 12:13

David confessed.  God forgave.  He took the sins away and David was not guilty anymore.  That is grace.

We can move beyond the mistakes we made and the choices we made and all the issues we created and the hurt we inflicted.  Grace takes out the broken parts and creates something altogether new.

Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come. -- 2 Corinthians 5:17

If you feel so guilty about what you've done and you don't think those things can pass away, let grace show it to you.  It's true.  New things come.  God said so.

Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. -- Romans 8:1

Believe it.  I do now.

God Bless,

Thom

Why Call it Brokenness?

I cannot stress this enough to you, but I'll still say it: I'll never be Christian. I think your Bible is nothing more than a piece of literature. I don't believe in your God, and never will.  But I will criticize you when you use your God to "fix" homosexuality, as if it were something to be fixed. 

-- An anonymous young friend

I have broken only two bones in my lifetime.  A wrist and a rib. The result of each was an increase in pain, a decrease in mobility and a denied sense of helplessness during a time of adjustment and healing. I still have the wrist and the rib and they both work just fine now.


I didn't decide to break my wrist. I didn't plan to break a rib. Absent of decisions or plans, they still broke.  And the rest of me?  It compensated, covered the effects of each break, rose to the occasion, took up the slack, pretended all was well.  


I wasn't doing anything wrong, either time. The wrist, in fact, sacrificed itself in an effort to keep me from tumbling further on the hills and landscape rocks in our backyard as I was weed-eating in preparation for my daughter's birthday party. It backed up the efforts of the palm, which threw itself down in a sacrificial act of protection. Snap, crackle, pop . . . . swell up, stop bending and retreat on a wrist R&R.


In my stubbornness, it took me several hours to grasp that the hand extending from the wrist had no grasp.  "I guess it's broken."


The rib?  Talk about a bone with a mind of its own.  It snapped in a concerted resistance effort against self-improvement.  I was suspended between two weight benches, ankles on one, hands on the other, lifting myself up and down almost effortlessly (yeah . . . ) when all of a sudden it felt as if my workout partner had amused himself by slamming my rib cage with a sledgehammer. 


"Who did that?" I exclaimed, lowering myself to the floor between the benches.


The rib was silent . . . and everyone else just paused and resumed working out. Standing up was torture; breathing was like ingesting needles. My usual self-medication -- denial -- ran in with a rush of adrenaline and I said, as I would do if run over by a road-grader:  "I'm fine."


In about six weeks, I could say "I'm fine," with a straight face, not a grimace of pain.


I guess it really was broken.


Brokenness is usually pretty obvious. A wrist that won't bend; a rib that feels like a blade in your lungs. A bulb that shines no light. A tree limb laying in the yard. A glass in pieces on a hard tile floor. The solutions are usually obvious too: screw in a new bulb; fetch the ax; sweep the floor. The light continues; you have some firewood; your bare feet are safe.  We respond and tidy up and move on.


But what about sexual brokenness?


Well . . . we tend to respond . . . tidy up . . . and move on.  The response can be a muted "oh" or a shocked "Oh . . . my God!."  Tidying up ranges from a-pat-on-the-back-and-a-passing-prayer to a dictatorial list of dos-and-don'ts delivered by a spiritual watchdog dutifully recording progress on a report card, marking pass or fail.  Moving on can be as beautiful as a bless you and an arm around the shoulder as we go together . . . or a disdaining look of disturbed incredulity that becomes a never-knew-you-never-will insistence in denial, a multi-directional scattering to put as much distance between thee and me as possible.


We be movin' on . . . us . . . the unbroken. 


Adios . . . amigos?


There are those who hang close and respond with what they hope will be comforting words: "you'll be fine."  Is that somehow expected to be more comforting than our own well-worn, oft-mis-proved "I'll be fine?"  Trite answers are convenient, but not compassionate.  How about a more honest one: "Yes, you are broken. Like me. But you don't have to be. Me either."


Fortunately for us, we're not a cold, indifferent piece of glass that slips off the edge of a counter and smashes into a million pieces, lacking even the wherewithal to ask for "a little help here, please?"  We're not a tree limb looking dumbly up at the tree with an "I've fallen and I can't get up" plea. And we're not a spent bulb.  We're a dimmer light, perhaps, than we want to be . . . but we are not without the opportunity to shine again.


I'm broken.  Wondrously made we are, with many parts, in need of constant maintenance. Are you a liar? Do you gossip? Do you have a heart of stone when you see the needs of others? Do you lust? Speak profanity? Feast your senses on pornography? Neglect the homeless? Commit adultery? Withhold forgiveness? Are you greedy? Have you turned your back on your mother and father . . . as in not honoring them?  Do you fill your mind with impure thoughts and reject Scripture? Neglect to worship? Feed your pride? Boast a bit?


Yep . . . you're broken.  Let me count the ways. Of course, counting your sins and ignoring mine would certainly be a sign of . . . brokenness.


So why do some of the sexually-broken take such offense at the term?  Well, because some do not see themselves as broken, this distinction being primarily one of faith. If we have faith and we believe God, we know what His Word says about sexuality, and if we go beyond that, we are broken. If we reject faith and believe what the world says about sexuality, we're not. Well, actually, we really are, but since we have no faith, we think we're not, which can seem oddly comforting and permanently condemning. For people in that position, perhaps it is better that they not consider themselves broken, for the world will not repair them. Why?


It's broken.


The world's embrace will not chase away the chill of emptiness for the soul who seeks through faith to be what God intended:  whole.


God gave us "The Word," but we have come up with so many more. We live in interpretive-Babel, never sure in the first place that people mean what they say or even know what they are saying means. So, brokenness -- an acknowledgement that we need God's healing -- becomes instead synonymous with no-goodness, and when we hear it spoken of us by others, we see the broom sweeping up the shattered glass for the trash. How dare you? I'm not that broken.


I am broken.  Thank God.  The result of which has been an increase in pain, a decrease in mobility and a denied sense of helplessness during a time of adjustment and healing.  Not so different than the twisted wrist and the fractured rib. No one could really see those either. On the day I broke the wrist, I made it all the way through my daughter's party without saying a word.  On the day I cracked the rib, I finished the workout.  We compensate for our brokenness until we cannot bear the pain or we cannot walk the walk of wholeness.


But God restores, repairs, redeems and returns me to the shelf. He uses me.  Out of my brokenness, He builds something new. 


But . . . SEXUAL brokenness?  That sounds more like something just doesn't work, for which there are countless remedies and prescriptions. Or have you not watched television or opened your spam e-mail?


What is sexual brokenness? It is any expression of sexuality that is not what God intended. After all, remember, He looked at everything He had made and said "it was good." The path from the garden was clearly a steady decline, swiftly descending from uncomfortable nakedness to homosexuality, pornography, heterosexual sexual addiction, lust, adultery, idolatry . . . and more. That's brokenness.  That's sin. And it is not good.


Maybe we don't like the brokenness terminology because we're so accustomed to discarding broken things. In the spring time, if you drive through the neighborhoods, you see cabinets and bookshelves and chairs and lamps and TVs, perched along the curb with signs:  "take me," or "free."  Why? Usually because they're broken.  Someone picks them up and fixes them and they live on in their inanimate way.


But that's the world.  The world eventually discards everything.


In God's view, brokenness is hopefulness. A broken heart, for instance, is the centerpiece for healing. Hearts are made brand new. A broken spirit soars to greater strength when healed. It is in our brokenness that we turn to Him and He responds. 

My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart You, God, will not despise. -- Psalm 51:17

So, make a sacrifice. Certainly give God your best . . . and certainly give God your brokenness. He knows what it is; He knows what it means; He knows what it's costing you; He knows what to do. He knows you.


God, in His kindness, reveals to us our brokenness, which brings to us our tears of repentance, which drop to soften the hardened soil of our life in which he plants his new seeds and healing grows.


Brokenness and blessedness. They both begin with "B."


God Bless,


Thom


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