The lesson about the beauty of brokenness is one I am trying to get into my bones. But my word, it does not come easy. Offering Him a broken heart, a broken body, a broken hallelujah seems poor recompense for the grace and mercy He pours out, but that is all I have to give.
My latest relapse into anorexia made it so hard to praise Him, to sing my hallelujah. I pretended for months that I was fine, and then had to fight so hard to eat when I stopped pretending. All that pretending and fighting absorbed everything, and it was a miracle I made it out of bed every day. It was a miracle every time I made it to work. All my fight went into trying to eat one meal, two meals, three meals a day. I'm still not back, and it's such a bitter thing. I hate it.
This time around, I realised that I starve my body when my heart is love-starved. It is a silent, desperate cry for love, but so often, no one notices anyway. I sometimes manage to remember that He sees and knows and loves, but our invisible God has invisible arms and how is that supposed to work when a girl just wants to be held and loved?
In refusing to nourish my body, I lost the ability to recognise or receive the goodness of God. He became insubstantial and far-off, and the familiar litany of lies had a field day. The labels that I slap all over myself got so numerous that they were all I could see. Broken/ugly/unloved/unlovable/invisible/voiceless/unworthy/not enough... And I could continue ad nauseam.
A shift began to happen, though. My manager took off her manager-hat and asked me how I was and helped me find a mentor. (We won't mention the fact that God told me to ask C about being my mentor months ago.) Through some Holy Spirit mystery/mischief I was able to strip off my mask the first time we met up. The second time we met, we both ended up crying in the corner of the pub. There is a redemption happening here, even as I was completely redeemed by Love Incarnate 2000 years ago.
I am standing bare before my Daddy in full acknowledgement of my brokenness, and learning to sing out that broken hallelujah again. I am in pursuit of the wholeness He gifts, and I am walking on holy ground. This advent season is one of waiting and dreaming and learning, and there is something new coming. I am reading Isaiah and listening for His whispers and writing a journal of gratitude and trying to return to my first and greatest Love. A broken hallelujah seems like a poor offering for Him, but it is all I have to give.
Linking with Prodigal and SheLoves today.
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