I recently read the book Thin Places by Mary DeMuth. In it, she writes very honestly of a childhood filled with abuse, neglect and loss. I generally avoid books of this nature, as they tend to potentiate my anxieties with regard to my own kids. I decided to read it anyway, and although I did have a sleepless night or two, I’m glad that I did.
Yes, there was abuse. Yes, there was brokenness. More importantly, God is in the process of healing those things. But what I really took away from the book, was the idea that although I (thankfully) haven’t walked her particular path, I have my own areas of brokenness. They aren’t founded in neglect or loss, but they are there nonetheless. My brokenness comes in the form of pride or fear or envy. It comes in lack of self control or in the refusal to extend the grace that I have been so freely given.
The truth is, we are all Mary. We are all flawed and scarred. We all need healing, and it is there, in the mess of it all, that God reaches down to meet us.