Monday, October 17, 2011

A Broken Sacrifice

I'm broken.

These words are hard to admit to in the privacy of my own mind, let alone write.

For decades I've mis-perceived God's perception of my brokenness, assuming that His only interest in my afflictions was to drive me to get my act together, to fix myself.

A fixer-upper is how I've thought of myself. I'm broken in spirit, my mind shattered from years of childhood abuse so horrendous that it became necessary to form an array of separate personalities (or "parts") in order to function. How on earth could God use someone like me, someone with so many mes that I don't even know who I'm referring to when I use that word?

Yes, I'm in dire need of fixing, or so I think in my darkest moments. Longings cut me to the quick as I lie in the dark, sleep eluding; longings to be whole, and mentally/emotionally healthy--longings to rightly represent the God I try to serve and worship in my bumbling fashion.

How do I rightly represent the Infinite? I've thought I could do so only by . . . well, by no longer making missteps, stumblings which are mostly the result of my Dissociative Identity Disorder. But how do I do that? I can't heal my mind. I've imagined that if I could get a strong handle on my image-management then God's character wouldn't be tarnished by my idiocy--by my sheer inability to blend in a world made up mostly of "singletons", those who are blessed to be mono-brained.

I wonder though. Does God really need my dishonest efforts to appear "normal" in order for His glory to be honored?

I want to impact my world for Christ, but too often I wander in the no man's land between the past and present. I make false starts, decide for instance to get back into the good habit of starting my days with prayer and Scripture, only to be rudely reminded by a strong inner resistance that many of my parts are not Christian, thank you very much.

Not today, then. I may seem to be running this ship, seeing as how this is my body, my hands and feet to do with as I will, but the reality is not that cut and dried. I zig when I mean to zag, being pulled in many directions at once. I laugh (or someone laughs) when tears would be more appropriate and, in fact, a pure relief.

I'm a fixer-upper is how I see it, but my many parts avidly disagree. I suspect they fear that "fixing" me would mean disposing of them by killing them off one by one.

I'm broken, I have nothing to offer, for my way involves backtracking (to what purpose?), dead-ends and constant do-overs.

Finally I manage to spend 15 minutes with the Lord, my eyes falling on these words in my open Bible:

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit. (Ps. 34:18)


The Lord is near to me; He is saving me, and there is not a hint of anything necessary on my part to help Him accomplish His good will in me.

Can He use my brokenness, then, as a sort of cracked offering, much like a jagged piece of mosaic? Perhaps He can fit me in somewhere in some life, the seemingly insignificant bit of mosaic that is me helping complete the design of another life.


Today, right now at least, I think wistfully of these things and assure myself there is purpose in every life, even mine; fractured, yes, but no less valuable to the One who is near to such as I.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. (I Cor. 1:3)


2 comments :

  1. This is beautiful. I appreciate you sharing your heart so openly.

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  2. Thank you so much for your kind comment, Floyd.

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