I look, but don’t see any gift. Because I see brokenness and woundedness as impediments or disabilities, to be tidied up, overcome or prayed away. What I don’t see is that in the invitation to befriend my “untidy” self, is the invitation to embrace the beauty and the wonder. I will admit that there is comfort donning my cape, morphing into an emotional life fix-it hero. And I know why. It distracts and protects me, because there’s a part of me that is afraid to pause, to befriend my scattered and wounded self. To let myself be loved for being this wonderfully messy imperfect me. Grace, it turns out, is WD-40 for the soul.
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