by Donya Dunlap | Jan 17, 2017 | Book Reviews, The Spiritual Life
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about brokenness. If you read my last post, you may have a sense of what I mean by that. Grief does many things to different people, but for me, the one word that best describes how I feel most of the time is broken. I’m not myself. I feel scattered, distracted, unsettled. I find it hard to remember things and the energy that I once depended on to get me through long, busy days is lacking in vibrancy and easily depleted.
Maybe you know how that feels?
Today I’ve had the lyrics to an old Steve Green song running through my mind.
Broken and spilled out
Just for love of you Jesus
My most precious treasure
Lavished on Thee
Broken and spilled out
And poured at Your feet
In sweet abandon
Let me be spilled out
And used up for Thee
It’s a beautiful song and a heartwarming story in Scripture. I remember being touched by the poetic idea of my life being spilled out for Jesus when I first heard it sung in church. But real brokenness isn’t always beautiful. It’s messy and complicated and uncomfortable. It makes you cry at inopportune moments and wonder if life will ever be the same again.
The Provision and the Problem
In The Broken Way: A Daring Path into the Abundant Life by Ann Voskamp, she repeats a conversation she had with her husband, a farmer. On a day when she was feeling especially fragile, he spoke these words to her:
The seed breaks to give us the wheat. The soil breaks to give us the crop, the sky breaks to I’ve us the rain, the wheat breaks to give us the bread. And the bread breaks to give us the feast. There was once even an alabaster jar that broke to give Him all he glory. Never be afraid of being a broken thing.
But isn’t that just the problem? We accept pain will come to us all at some point. Life and death are inseparable. Love and grief are too. Success and failure. Abundance and loss. All sides of this same coin of existence. So why then is it so hard to admit that we’re hurting? That we don’t have it all together?
I think it’s because we are afraid. Afraid to be seen as weak. Of being judged for our messy emotions. Afraid people can’t be trusted to handle our fragile hearts carefully. Afraid of greater pain, deeper loss, wider shame.
So we stuff our feelings and every day we’re “fine” when on the inside we’re crying or raging or simply lost. We plaster a smile and save our tears for the shower so no one knows just how broken we really are.
The Broken Way
Ann offers another path. One of healing and communion. Of honest prayers and united hearts. She offers the broken way—leaning into the suffering of Christ and thereby entering into the suffering of His followers. And it all begins by admitting your own need.
Before we can be honest with others, we must be honest with God and ourselves. Are you angry? Tell God why. Are you confused? Confess to Him that you don’t understand. And then give yourself grace. Take a nap. Write your feelings in a journal. Call a friend you know can handle someone ugly crying on the other end of the phone.
You don’t have to be afraid
Does this sound unChristian to you? Possibly selfish? I know I worry about being a burden to others or dragging them down into my pit of despair, but again, Ann offers another perspective. She says we don’t have to be afraid of our brokenness because in this sharing of hearts we find community. Friendship. Intimacy. Healing.
There is no fellowship for brokenhearted believers while protecting others from our own brokenness—because we are the fellowship of the broken…and fellowship happens in the brokenness. The miracle happens in the breaking.
So be aware…the next time you ask how I’m doing, I might just tell you. And the next time I see you faking a smile, I might just push a little back. Because we are all in this life together. We need each other…even though we might not want to admit it sometimes. And if you find yourself feeling fragile too, I encourage you to get The Broken Way. To quote dear Kathleen Kelly, “read it with a box of kleenex.” But do read it.
by Donya Dunlap | Jan 13, 2017 | The Spiritual Life
A few months ago I was asked to volunteer for Passion 2017, a conference for 18-25 year olds who want to draw closer to Jesus. Since my first, life-changing encounter with the Passion movement in 2012, I have wanted to take part in this event. I was thrilled God worked out my holiday travel plans to allow for the extra few days in the south. I had a few reservations about jumping into such a big event after being out of the loop of service for so many months, but I assured myself it would be just like riding a bike.
Except it wasn’t.
In times past, serving at events and conferences in any capacity was one of my favorite things. And of all the conferences I’ve known, the Passion Conference has been the most integral to my spiritual growth—albeit digitally and not in person. So you can imagine my dismay as January 2nd drew closer and closer and my heart still felt as empty as it has since my mom passed away. How could I pour out to others when I had nothing from which to give?
Words of wisdom from my Elijah friend
During that first early morning drive to the Georgia Dome, I confessed to my friend I didn’t think I could do it. The desire was there, but my emotional and spiritual reserves were gone. I don’t recall her exact words, but she spoke from a well of understanding grief and pain. She knew exactly how I felt—a comfort in itself.
She told me not to worry if I had lost my spark. It is still inside and will return when the time is right. She encouraged me to do what I could, but not to feel a pressure to perform or hold myself to a standard of past accomplishments. She reminded me that living in grace means accepting yourself and others as they are. I shouldn’t fear condemnation or reproach for not measuring up, but should simply take the next step and walk through the door God had opened.
As I walked toward registration, the anxiety I had been feeling melted away. In the first door holder meeting, tears streamed down my face as the worship leaders guided the crowd of volunteers in preparatory praise. I prayed the Holy Spirit would do what I could not. I prayed for physical endurance, emotional strength, and supernatural ability. God answered my prayer.
Just enough
I never felt a surge of power or the voice of God telling me everything would be okay. There was no mighty, rushing wind of confidence. Just enough strength to do the next thing. Unpack the boxes. Organize the shelves. Smile encouragement to the frazzled leader. Speak grace. Keep moving. Answer questions. Engage with students. Rejoice in rescued children, salvation testimonies, and open hearts.
Every moment I needed to pour out energy, ignore the screaming muscles in my legs, and do the work of the ministry, I had what I needed. Not an overflow, but enough.
Rest and reflection
Upon the conclusion of Passion 2017 and my seven week skip-the-holidays tour, I returned to Michigan exhausted. In taking time to rest and reflect I’ve thought much of the widow of Zarephath in 1 Kings 17. I’m sure she would have felt more secure with cupboards full of groceries, just as I have often felt secure in my abilities and talents. But sometimes God sends famine into our lives to draw us near to Himself.
Dependence isn’t easily learned. Without the famine, there would have been no need. And without dependence, there would have been no miracle. And though it felt more like desperation than a spiritual breakthrough, God carrying me though those three days of service was every bit a miracle.
Empty but oh so full
In my lack, I have discovered what it means to lean into the Spirit on a whole new level. It’s one thing to pray for Spirit filling as a boost to your natural accomplishments. It’s something else to need His help to put one foot in front of the other.
In reality, though our talents are given by God to be used by God, they can become idols that replace God in our lives. I know I’ve been guilty of this. In the stripping bare of my life this year, I’ve learned what no sermon could ever teach me. It is the paradox of 2 Corinthians 12:10:
But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient of you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
It’s a lesson I keep encountering over and over again. I am enough in my brokenness, my pain, my weakness, my emptiness, my portion of talents—not because what I have is sufficient, but because He is. He never expects us to have it all together. Perfectionism is a burden man has invented, not God. Jesus is all in all so we don’t have to be.
I still worry at times that I’ll be rejected as not good enough. But Passion reminded me that if I take my little, empty pot of oil to Jesus, He will provide and sustain. And in the process, He is making me into a vessel fit for the miraculous. Only an empty pot has room for Him.
