Accepting the broken, Welcoming the valleys
By Bec Zakhia
At times I wonder if really, at the core of all our worries, problems, efforts, struggles, unsettledness, discontent, and despair, is an inability, or perhaps an unwillingness, to accept the broken. To accept the brokenness of our world, our society, our communities, our families, our homes, and of course, ourselves. We are fallen humanity. We are humans, so delicately, devotedly, lovingly - indeed fearfully and wonderfully - made in the image of perfection; of an untainted, unique, united God, reflecting him. But that is only half of the phrase. And half of the story. Do we too often forget to truly acknowledge the first half? Fallen. We can and do reflect our perfect God, but that reflection is skewed. Blurred. Muddled. Tainted. Because on this earth we will never be without a constant daily battle against, and journey through, all of the broken. The broken people, the broken things, the broken parts of ourselves. The sin, the pain, the suffering. It will never not be a part of life - not this side of heaven, at least. It may fluctuate in severity but it will always be present for every human. Often, much of the brokenness exists in things we cannot change. So often, though, we spend every last ounce of energy fighting it anyway... fighting the broken.
I take a deep, long breath, I hit pause, and I think… what if, for a moment, I just stop trying to “fix” it all? What if I back up on all my efforts that are really just powered by a need to try and stop, reduce or prevent pain and unpleasant things in the immediate-term for myself and for my kids to make life more comfortable? What if, for a moment, I just allow things to happen (providing, of course, there is no significant danger)? Allow my kids and I to experience the fullness of the broken in whatever form it comes today, and each day, without frantically reaching for an emergency band-aid fix immediately every time (where possible and permissible)? What if I just hit pause... not on my circumstances or pain, but on ME? My thoughts, my actions, my reactions, my efforts, my attempts at control? What if I zoom my perspective right out, as far out as it can go, to try and see what really matters for my kids?
I look at my life in context. I think through what has truly mattered in my own life to this point in time. What has led me to where I am and the qualities I have now? I still fall short and I break every day, over and over. I still have my weaknesses. But gee, I sure am a woman and a mother that I never thought I would be, and I have learned to notice and remind myself of that - of my own feats and qualities, that I have gained through God’s grace. What is it that has most deepened my intimacy with my God, grown me in my dependence on him, given me the strength, tenacity, deep care, compassion, empathy, courage, perseverance, unconditional love and joy that exists within me today, that at one point I could never have dreamed possible? And what continues to nourish these things?
I know with certainty it is not the sheltered and cushy parts of my childhood and my life. It was not being kept away from pain and hard things and just sticking with all the easy and all the happy. It was not having things patched up for me. While positive experiences are still vital, it was largely instead my lowest experiences in the valley, in the depths of pain and hardship and suffering, and in the midst of each and every battle. Carried through by my Heavenly Father while I tried to re-learn how to breathe and survive again. Such deep and intense emotions, pain, brokenness and yearning brought even deeper clarity, intimacy, understanding, and eventually... peace.
Only once I had learnt though, that true peace can only ever be found in the midst of the broken, within the chaos of the unceasing storm... in the depths of the valley. It is in these depths that Jesus finds us and His peace is found. Not in the complete absence of them. Only in the midst of my deep brokenness could true beauty be known, formed and found. Only there could I find intimate joy in my Saviour.
As I reflect on the hardest of my hard times in life - both past and present - those experiences are, paradoxically, my greatest and most treasured gifts. How could I experience things so deeply as I do now? How could I have such greater understanding and eternal perspective, and access the ability, only through God’s strength, to forge through whatever comes my way? How could I learn to adorn the armour of Christ, and to turn to and dwell in the safety and perfect power of my God? All of that could only ever be forged and found in the roughest of storms, in the deepest and darkest of my valleys.
And so here I am now, utterly redefining my parenting. Like any other parent, I dream and strive to see my kids flourish and grow up to be strong, loving, kind, courageous, faithful, godly, independent, resilient humans who will both cling to and wrestle with God, grab hold of their strengths, and take every opportunity to live life to its fullest. Yet now I know that they need far more, and yet less, from me in order to experience and develop these great things in life. I need to learn to step back at times and to recognise and respect their own valleys. Just like in my own valleys, I need to guide them to know that unavoidable pain certainly will come, but that it can be welcomed, worked through and even one day, appreciated. I need to guide them to reach deep and feel the extent of it all, to experience and explore the full extent of the pain, the feelings, the confusion and the chaos, all while enabling them to gradually become more and more okay with it, in order to learn from it. I need to model and teach them how to sit in the paradoxical peace and joy and gratitude of suffering, knowing what incredible beauty, intimacy, and refined character is being formed. I need to allow them to experience God as their anchor, perhaps at first through me, and other pivotal people too, but eventually towards only Him. Maybe if I come to their valley simply to be still and to sing, they too will learn that it is okay to sit in the broken. It is okay to sing in the valley.
What I am slowly learning is that my role is not, and never was, to prevent, stop, or fix their struggles, their pain, or indeed any of the “broken”. Perhaps it is rather to say to them, just like my Jesus says to me, “I see your pain, your struggles. I see all the broken. I feel it too. I’m not here to pull you out. I’m here to sit in this valley with you, always pointing to hope, until the faithful arms of our Father carry us both through. One day we’ll see the beauty that was forged here. The fruit. Perhaps soon. Perhaps in years to come. Perhaps not until eternity. Yet always, we know, that one glorious day all will be right, and nothing will be broken.” (Ps 23; Is 63:9; John 15:1-8; 2 Cor 1:3-7; Rev 21)
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Bec is a single parent of two children, one of whom has a diagnosis of ASD, PDA, and ADHD. She lives in Sydney and is both a former teacher and passionate advocate for disability inclusion, student and teacher wellbeing, and mental health education, in schools.
The views and opinions expressed on this site are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official position of The 139 Collective. As a collective, we seek to humbly learn from each other’s experiences and remember the unity that we share in Christ even when our current viewpoints on the difficult topic of disability differ.
