Loving the Church became easier for me the day I stopped pretending I wasn’t broken.
Not dramatically broken. Not headline-level broken. Just human. Fragile. In process. There was a season when I wrote in my journal, “Healing is possible.” I still remember how hopeful those words felt. Not because everything was suddenly fixed, but because I had finally stopped fighting the process.
For a long time, I thought sanctification was a checklist.
- Fix this.
- Improve that.
- Don’t slip there.
- Stay strong here.
I thought growth meant maintaining a polished version of myself. But real sanctification is not about preserving an image. It is about surrendering our layers to God, one by one, and letting Him form Jesus Christ in us over time.
The deeper I walked with Jesus, the more I realized that following Him does not erase our humanity. It exposes it gently, steadily, and lovingly. Not to shame us, but to transform us. Somewhere along the way, though, we forget that.
We forget what it felt like when we first needed grace. We forget the pit God pulled us from. We forget the prayers we prayed when we were desperate. Then, when someone else struggles, we act surprised. We tighten up. We analyze. We correct too quickly. Instead of asking, “How would Jesus love them right now?” we react from discomfort.
But what if the brokenness we see in others is actually a mirror? What if it is a reminder of our own ongoing need for mercy?
Psalm 147:3 says, “He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds.”
That verse has no expiration date. It is not only for the moment we first come to faith. It is for every season, every setback, and every moment we realize we are still being formed.
God saves us in a moment, but He shapes us over a lifetime. And that shaping is where humility grows.
If you lead in any capacity, at church, at work, at home, or even in a small circle of influence, you know this: people can only fake transformation for so long. Eventually, what is in the heart shows up. It comes out in tone, motives, consistency, reactions, and the way we treat people when things get uncomfortable.
That is why real change always starts inside.
When I became more honest about my own need for healing, something shifted in the way I saw others. I was not as quick to label. I was not as eager to correct. I felt compassion instead of frustration. Because I remembered.
I remembered what it felt like to be the one hoping someone would be patient with me. There is a difference between shame and brokenness.
Shame says, “Hide.” Brokenness says, “Heal me.”
Shame isolates. Brokenness invites God in.
And Scripture tells us that “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed” (Psalm 34:18). Not distant. Not annoyed. Close. That changes how we love.
Brokenness is not beautiful because pain is good. Pain is not good. Loss is not good. Sin is not good. But redemption is good. Restoration is good. The way God takes ashes and brings beauty, that is glorious.
I have seen Him use seasons I once wanted erased to soften my heart; to make me more patient, to slow my reactions, to make me less impressed with appearances and more attentive to fruit.
Charles Stanley once said, “He allows brokenness in our lives to bring about a blessing.” I did not understand that at first. Now I do. The blessing is not the pain:
- The blessing is dependence on God.
- The blessing is humility.
- The blessing is a deeper awareness of grace.
- The blessing is learning to love others from the place where God first loved us.
When we embrace that, something shifts:
- We stop avoiding broken people.
- We stop avoiding our own weak places.
- We start seeing brokenness as soil, the very place where God loves to grow something new.
So if you are struggling to love someone in their mess, or if you are struggling to love yourself in your own, remember this: God is not finished.
He is still healing. Still restoring. Still forming Jesus Christ in you. And the very place that feels cracked may be the place where His light shines through the most. That is not a denial of pain. That is hope rooted in redemption.
And that is the kind of brokenness that leads to wholeness.
Let’s tune in.
Beautiful!!!