I must be ever so careful to remember that my pain is a precious salve that when used in the service of others can heal a thousand wounds and more. And I must likewise remember that if I do not use it as such, I have done nothing more than wound myself yet again.

Love might be wounded by lesser things, but in the wounding it strengthens so that in time it has ample power to lovingly tame the lesser things and therefore handily transform the greater things.

To be broken means that the best of my resources lay shattered and strewn about. And it is then and only then that I am at my peak, for it is at these times that there is less of me to get in the way of all of God.

I would much prefer to be broken than to live out the entirety of my life never having known what it’s like to be healed.

God has hewn out a hidden path more glorious, tantalizing and adventuresome than the path trod by most, and it is a path seen only through the eyes of our wounds, felt solely through the heart of our losses, and singularly traversed by those with a limp in their step.

It’s not out of the heart that people do damaging things. Rather, it’s out of the wounds of the heart.

The only time that we stop bleeding is when we stop breathing. And could it be that since bleeding is such a part of this existence that it’s not just about being wounded? Could it be that it’s in dealing with the bleeding that we develop the strength to overcome the wound?

A ‘victor’ is a ‘victim’ who decided to do something about the thing that victimized them other than complain about it.

It is not a matter of being broken, even though I am in fact quite shattered. It is understanding that my capacity to be fixed always exceeds the extent to which I’m broken.