Broken People Do Broken Things

The room felt cold, dark and lonely. She sat, clutching her arms too herself, uncertainty beginning to swallow up her determination. Outside, she heard the voices of the protesters, screaming, chanting about the sin they said she was committing. Why didn't they offer to help me if they are so against this, she thought to herself. She jumped at the sound of her name coming from the lips of a woman in blue scrubs who looked void of emotion. She stood up hesitantly and followed the stoic woman silently. How did this happen, she asked herself as panic began to squeeze her insides. She hadn't meant for this to happen. She hadn't thought it would. He had been so kind, so gentle...she had trusted him. She thought she had finally found someone who would take care of her, keep her safe.

Broken people do broken things.

The woman opened a door and motioned her in. She looked around not sure what she was expecting. The room looked untouched. Was someone just in here doing what I'm about to do, she asked herself staring at the narrow bed in the middle of the room. She tried to rid her mind of the possible images that had filled that bed. I can do this, she told herself closing her eyes briefly. I don't have a choice. She had been so sure before walking into this dark place. Now, she was filled with doubt. But what choice did she have? No one wanted to help her, especially him. She sat on the edge of the table and folded her arms over her middle. She was nauseous. Was that normal? Was it because of this place or what was inside her...growing. How could something grow if it's not alive she asked herself. Maybe she had waited to long. Maybe if she had come sooner, she wouldn't feel anything right now. She could faintly hear those chanting, angry voices in the distance. Had they gotten louder? What was it they had been yelling? Something about death and judgement. She was already being judged. She already felt dead. The door opened and a man walked in, wearing a white Doctor's coat. He looked at her and smiled. When she just stared at him he walked over and still looking at her, put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Don't worry. Everything is going to be fine."

The enemy comes as an angel of light, offering false hope to souls desperate for salvation.

She relaxed a little, letting out a shallow breath. Maybe it would all be fine. Maybe in a couple hours this would just be a memory that would fade with time. Maybe this would give her back her life. If she just got through this, she could start over, try harder, do better. The doctor looked at her, still smiling. "We're all ready," he said walking back to where she sat. He sounded so calm, so sure. He helped her lay back onto the bed, and she closed her eyes. I have to do this, I have to do this, I have to do this. She laid there, telling herself that over and over, as they began the procedure.

She walked out the front door of that dark place a couple hours later. Everything was quiet and still. The protesters were gone. She stood there a moment waiting for the wave of physical pain to pass. She walked over to her car, slid into the drivers seat and just stared at the steering wheel. Where was the relief? Where was the freedom she had come looking for?  She did not realize that a cold, dark hole had just been formed  deep in her soul. A lone tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily. She would be fine...yes, she would be fine.

It would be many years before someone would finally offer her the way to fill that hole, the perfect love she sought, the safety she desperately needed...

We can so easily forget the people in the midst of our zeal for justice...the souls, lost and broken. Jesus calls us to go to them, to offer them hope, healing and love...no matter what. 

Help us Jesus to look beyond the end of our pointing fingers and extend your hands of life.

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