Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Broken Has A Face

reduced to fragments; fragmented.ruptured; torn; fractured.infringed or violated  
 Laura and I arrived to the USA September 1st and throughout most of that month traveled and spoke in several US States and Cities. It was on one of my many road trips that I heard a song that really struck me. It had been one of those weeks while traveling that my faith felt challenged. Every now and then, there are times I get discouraged and tired and wonder if I am fighting in vain. Of course I know we are not but there are times even I need reminding we are not fighting a losing battle. The song came on right in the middle of a mental battle of discouraging thoughts. Here are a few of the lyrics:
"Something here is wrong
There are children without homes
But we just move along to take care of our own
There's so much suffering just outside our door
A cry so deafening
We just can't ignore

To all the people who are fighting for the broken
All the people who keep holding on to love
All the people who are reaching for the lonely
Keep changing the world

Broken is an interesting word. What do you think of when you read or hear that word? When I was a little girl when I thought of the word broken, I thought of toys. When my toys or accessories were broken, I took them to my father and usually he was able to fix or mend them. When I was a teenager, broken was a bone in my body or my car. I would call my father and he would come to my rescue. When I entered into the medical field and worked for General/Vascular Surgeons, broken was usually a Gallbladder, Appendix or Vein. This time, I did not call my father because I was the one to learn how to help fix what was broken. Finally when I left and moved to Central America, the word broken took on a whole new meaning. Broken no longer was a toy or accessory; a bone or a car; a gallbladder or appendix. Broken had a face. Broken was men and women, boys and girls all hungry and hurting for more than just food. I called my heavenly father to help me with the broken in Central America. Then one day, I learned of broken little girls and forgotten older women. Broken now meant women and children living and working in prostitution.  Once again, I called my heavenly father to help and He reminded me that His son Jesus died on the cross so that whatever was broken could be fixed
Now and always, Broken has a face to me. Broken has a name and a dream. Broken cries on my shoulder. Broken smiles at me when the making of an earring has been accomplished. Broken has become my family.

I have loved living among the broken and hungry. I have been humbled and privileged to partner with Jesus to fill hungry bellies, mend wounded knees and love on hurting hearts. 

To any of you that think you could not change a hurting, ugly world. I have good news, because of Jesus and now through Jesus we can! 

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