Have you ever been broken? I have, repeatedly, and it hurts. What broke me wasn’t watching my peers enjoy dances and football games and life while I lay in my bed sobbing from the sheer physical pain. What broke me wasn’t losing our home and all our material possessions. What broke me wasn’t getting diagnosed with Lyme disease, MCS, and toxic mold poisoning.
What broke me was being told I had a month to live at fifteen. What broke me was people I loved scoffing at my illness, telling me I was making it up. What broke me was watching my mom weep because she felt so alone and didn’t know how she could afford the medical bills.
I don’t know how you’ve been broken. There are an overwhelming number of ways it can happen. But eventually—we have to sweep together the shards, look around at the destruction, and try to breathe.
As healing eventually pokes its head above the dirt, we slowly learn to live again, to trust again, to hope again. But as I’ve healed, there’s one thing I’ve been afraid to do. I’ve been afraid to dream again. Having faced pain, and knowing that the future probably holds a whole lot more pain, I’m afraid to dream of good things.
Am I the only one?
When we’ve faced brokenness, it can be scary to dream. Are freedom and laughter really possible? Are we even worthy of good things after what we’ve done to cope with brokenness? How do scars fit into dreams for the future?
I certainly didn’t enjoy having a long-term illness, but God used it in my life to draw me closer to Himself. He brought so many good things out of it and taught me spiritual truths that I wouldn’t trade for anything.
Yet, somehow, I now have it in my head that trials are the only way God can teach me and bless me and draw me closer to Him. I learned to see illness as God’s gift to me because of all the things He did through it, but now I’m afraid that all His gifts are going to be good for me without feeling good. I’m afraid that all His blessings for me are going to come through tears.
I don’t want to be hurt again. I desperately don’t want to be hurt again. But if trouble is inevitable in this fallen world (see John 16:33), then I don’t want to get my hopes up about good things. I trust God to carry me through future trials. I know it will be for my good—so while I’ll have hope through hard things, I don’t want to hope for happy things.
Oh weary heart, do you feel this too? Are you healing, but afraid to dream of good things in the future? I wonder if Job felt any of this after losing everything from his kids to his livelihood. He had learned the hard way that God had a purpose in his pain. Do you think he feared more purposeful pain?
Yet God blessed him with obviously good, pleasurable things. The Bible says that God gave Job twice as much as he had before. In fact, Job 42:12 says, “The LORD blessed the latter part of Job’s life more than the former part.”
Wouldn’t that be amazing? Those blessings in Job’s life weren’t the kind that come through tears. There are so many verses throughout the Bible that speak of how God loves to bless His children with good, desirable things. Take the famous verse, “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’” (Jer. 29:11).
I want to prosper—what about you? God has beautiful plans for us. Ultimately, our greatest hope is in the cross and what Jesus did for us. Through that, our future includes living forever with God and heaven. Now that’s a pretty beautiful dream, and it’s one that we know will come true.
Yes, there might be more pain and brokenness we’re going to have to face in life. But I think I’m going to dare to dream of good things. I’m going to dare to dream of financial success. I’m going to dare to dream of a godly husband and some kids. I’m going to dare to dream of exploring the world and seeing God’s wonders.
What about you? Will you dare to dream with me? I know it’s hard. I know it’s scary. But God truly does love us and wants not only what is best, but what is pleasurable too (Matt. 7:11). He wants to give us laughter and joy and freedom and hope and fun.
Who knows? Maybe God will bless our post-broken life even more than the ignorant bliss we had pre-brokenness.
