When You Are Traveling on a Broken Road

The world is an expert at advise.

Walk into any bookstore and you can see the shelves lined with how-to’s, need-to’s, and have-to’s.

We’ve become unsympathetic to others dark valleys, but increasingly reflective and exaggerated about our own inner dwellings.

We keep company with a world holding magnifine glasses to our every flaw, our open scars, while bellowing from the halls of their own delight, announcing…

“She is flawed, he is broken.”

The world climbs on the shirtails of the weakest, crowning themselves as perfect to hide their pride, their own inner lies, with a maskeraide they have made for themselves…

Where they are always right, and every story points to them.

But, as I comb the isles of my own broken-ness, flush out my heart of its toxic mess; as I gaze up the narrow path, leading me home…

I have no doubt, the broken know the road of His grace more.

I have seen them, the prostitute bowed in repentence. The lost, most generous. The needy, flooded with sympathy and mercy for his/her brother.

And perhaps, the road to Him is not shiny and decorated, plastic and broad, as too many have suggested.

Perhaps, the guilty can’t enter, the calloused can’t dance nearest, and the deceitful can’t manipulate themselves closer to Him…

Because God sees our hearts, and the water to our souls is made clear by His magnifine glass which sees through us clearly…

Like the chrystal blue Carribean Waters, hiding nothing underneath.

In this season, there is much grief. Grief laced with anger, hurt and pointed fingers.

The quicksand of our lives is shifting and exposing our own inability to keep ourselves afloat.

And while the church holds much hope and Holy Scripture still leads us home, our own inner failings are being flushed like water hosing us slowly…

And either we run from this cleansy, we flee the thing that purifies us by mercy, or we wrap ourselves up and hide from this cleansing…

The hard and sometimes painful purification He is giving.

But isn’t there a third choice? A braver choice? To remain in His love.

To stay, steadfast on the Rock of His promises, and refuse to shrink back from the onslaught coming at us.

Stand. And keep standing firm.

Love and keep loving unconditionally.

Hold the line and do not move, from the Mercy Seat of Christ.

Refusing to watch ourselves rise; rise in our own strength, our own power, our own puffed up knowledge of self-importance…

But oh, that we might bow and keep bowing to Christ and Christ alone.

Serve and keep serving, the One who left His home to serve us on the cross through blood and sweat, giving His life as a drink offering, for you and me.

The solution isn’t to run, perhaps…

But to let the water of His washing make us cleaner…

Remain in His goodness, despite all the fingers pointing to injustice, trying to convince us, there’s corruptness in a Good God, who promises to never leave.

Perhaps, we grap ahold of the hand of the One who will carry us over the storm, through the white clouds of our own unspoken worries…

Hiding in the wing of the God who protects us when pestulance comes, darts are thrown, and the world spins upside down in this crazy storm of insanity, leading only to destruction.

I see a flickering light, waiting in a building. It waits and promises, draws me like a magnet.

No, it isn’t voices and personalities, big names, or idealic branding.

Instead, it is small and lowely, quiet…holy.

It is the light of His manger, waiting with the promise that…

Small things are often best.

Small things held close will stand in light of future diagnosis, threats or black clouds that roll into our lives when we least expect them.

It’s The Small One with a Big Heart, on this side of heaven, that carries us to the place of our true promise..

The One found on the narrow path, where only we can go, seeking The One we love.

The fingers point. Hate is tossed like cannonballs, right and left…

And yet, I see His small light on, the church of His promise, the beauty of His goodness, calling me, drawing me nearer.

I step, the sounds silence. Fingers, meaningless. The loud, bellowing shouts from the world start to fade in light of His nearness…

So, I run. I run to where He is.

Not tip-toeing any longer. Not standing at the crossroads, waiting, questioning…

But, running.

Running to the light that gets wider, bigger.

Claw at and pant until I reach Him and His goodness flooding every fiber of my being, drowning out my flesh with the warmth of a peace, only He can bring…

And I no longer see anything but Him.

It’s not that the world and all its insanity has ceased to exist; it’s that His love shines brighter, like a ball around me. And…

I’m overtaken with His love that disippates the world and all of its chaos.

And it is here I wait. I rest. I am perfectly still and drown in His holiness.

It is here that large things become small. Broken people are welcomed and the door is always open…

For you. For me.

There are two paths in this life, the more that I see.

One too large and in charge of things that destroy us once we get near them…

And one that is small and holy, pure and perfect. It draws us towards his love.

It’s the broken road I travel on…

Until my Savior calls me home.

Can you see it?

The light remains on. And He stands at the doorway. Gently calling you and me, by name.