The Broken Pot (Part Two) "In Him was life..."

(If you haven't read my previous post"The Broken Pot (Part I)" please feel free to do so, now )

Over the past month or two, I've been thinking a lot about transparency; I've been wondering "how much is too much" when sharing with others about my heart. I have had warnings from friends and family that I share too openly - that I allow people whom aren't even close friends, to hear about some of the more difficult things I've gone through in life. And well, for a while, I really tried to be more "shallow" in my conversations.

But I've rethought that. Because the thing is, it's just not about me.

I mean, it goes without saying that I shouldn't be exposing my open wounds and asking people to pour on the salt. But, I've decided that when it comes to relating to people, and doing what matters most - to love people loudly ; actively - as to allow Christ's healing mercy to shine on them, we need to let people see our wounds. Because without wounds, there is no need for healing. And if I've had no need for healing, I've had no pain. And for each of you who has experienced life - and the pain that inevitably comes with it - you therefore would have no way of relating to me.

But because I live in this fallen world, I've had wounds. But better yet, I've had healing too - and that, is worth talking about - with anyone who's willing to listen. :)

Truth is, that life - often - isn't pretty. I recently watched a movie which told the stories of many broken women. Their lives were full of some of the most grueling, detrimental forms of pain and heartache I have ever imagined. These women went on living their lives, broken and battered, alone. 

And well, though my life hasn't been through the battles that some of you have had to witness in your own lives, just the same, I have had my share of pain. This, is just how life goes.

I've been living in a country where to show pain or discomfort or even to publicly dislike something, is not culturally "ok". I'm surrounded by smiling faces but cold stares; thankful words - yet graceless eyes. I'm living in a land where to be transparent, can actually cause offense.  

And as I look around me, and take note of the fact that Japan has the highest suicide rate on the planet, it makes me wonder.

And wish, 

and pray,

and thank God, 

that I am, in fact, a broken pot. Shining brilliantly, in this grueling darkness that we call home. 

Because not only am I broken, but I am forgiven, forgiving, and healed.  And I long, so deeply, urgently, faithfully, that you, my dear and deeply special friend, that you can shine brightly, showing off your healed heart, too. 

Because if we patch up our holes and don't give people the chance to see that we're people too, 

how can we draw them to the light?

"In Him was life. And that life was the light of men." Jn 1:4

There's a part III coming. I bet you're just stoked. 

Waiting For the Bus

I placed my backpack on the muddy sidewalk and sat down with my book. I'd missed my bus yesterday when it came early, but two days in a row? It's a pain, but there isn't much I could have done about it now. I've had a lot of experiences in my life, but this one's new - and at the same time, it's old. But the good kind of old. I had originally planned to set up this blog so I could write about my grand adventures in Japan, but I hadn't accounted for this new job - a job that has opened my eyes to a world that is now so obviously worth writing about.
On my first day of work we were at the park and I watched as a woman not much older than myself staggered across the yard, completely and absolutely strung up on drugs. She fell all over the place, tossing and turning and muttering to herself. She pointed all around, calling out to things unseen - I could only sit and watch, praying for this lost and broken young woman. "It's sad", Amy said, as she sat next to me. Yes, my friends, it is sad.
I, work at daycare. we have about twenty kids who come every day from the roughest neighbourhood in the city, and heck, do I ever love them. We wipe noses and share crayons and tell stories about secret tunnels in the alleyways and read that book about the boy stuck in his snow suit, and all those normal daycare things. But one of the privileges - if you'd like to call it that - I have in this job, is that each day after work, I wait for the bus. I stand in the hot sun and watch the kids and youth and grammas and grampas walk past me on the sidewalk. They don't look up, the don't smile, they don't give me a chance to love. These are broken people - no more lost than you or I, but broken just the same. Then I go back to daycare the next day and I can't help but think to myself, that here before me sits Canada's Next Top Gang Member. But heck, do I ever love them. Today as I walked to the bus I was walking behind a homeless man. Yesterday I had to go back to the park because we forgot one of our boy's jackets, and I hurried along, sure that a mentally challenged/drunk man was following behind. Tuesday as I waited for my bus I made sure I was capable of jumping the fence behind me in case I needed to run from any incoming attacker. You know, I really thought I was tougher than this. I thought I was this courageous kid who could take care of myself..yet I walk the streets and too often "remind" myself that I'm not afraid. I, am a chicken. But ya know, it's ok. I'm a pretty dedicated chicken. And even when I'm not as dedicated as I should be, well, God is.
You know that song "Jesus loves me"? It hit me yesterday, so hard. There are kids in my group who don't want to go home at the end of the day. I can only imagine what awaits them in their sad homes, and I sit, I wait for my bus, praying. Praying for these hopeless kids who have behavioral problems coming out the wazoo, (I never quite figured out what that meant, but it seemed appropriate here) and WHAP! my head got hit by God Almighty...not physically, of course. Jesus Loves them - individually, even. Like, it isn't like God just looks at them and sees a project and loves them but keeps his distance a bit because they're a little hard to deal with. He loves them, the same as He loves me. He has the same hope for each of these kids, the same as He's had hope in me. I'm far from perfect and I mess things up more than enough, but I'm in His hands. And God has that same hope, that same compassion the same ability to work in each of these kids hearts and lives, as He's done for me. I'm now gonna leave you with these two things: Hope, my friend. And love, of course. This job will never be just a walk in the park, but I'm sure thankful God's walking me through it regardless. Rest in His love. "We love Him because He first loved us." (1 John 4:19)