Chapter 9: When God Uses What We Thought Was Broken

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28 (KJV)

There is a difference between saying something painful was good and saying God can bring good from it.

Not everything that happened was good. Not every choice we made was good. Not everything someone did to us was good. Some things were painful. Some things were sinful. Some things were consequences. Some things were losses. Some things we still wish had never happened.

But God's ability to work isn't limited to the parts of our story we would have chosen.

Maybe that's part of redemption. He doesn't need us to hand Him a perfect story before He can use it. He takes what is actually there. And sometimes the very places where we once saw only brokenness become places where we begin recognizing what He's been forming.

Sometimes the People We're Teaching Are Teaching Us

I thought my responsibility was to raise my children. And it is.

I'm their mom. I'm supposed to teach them, guide them, correct them, protect them, love them, and point them toward Christ.

But somewhere along the way, I realized how much God has been teaching me through them too.

I sometimes joke that I'm slow to learn. And stubborn. Apparently I can be so slow to learn and so stubborn that it took five kids to get through to me.

I laugh when I say that. But there's truth underneath it.

I've learned about relationships by watching my children. I've watched them try to figure out how to be brothers and sisters, how to be the older sibling, how to be the younger sibling, how to share, how to forgive, how to be annoyed with each other and still love each other, how to need space and then want to play together again.

They're individuals. What one needs isn't necessarily what another needs. What encourages one may overwhelm another. One may want to talk. Another may need time. One may need reassurance. Another may need room to figure something out.

Loving them has taught me something important:

Loving people equally doesn't always mean loving them identically.

Love learns the person.

Connection Gives Correction Somewhere Safe to Land

My children come to me with problems that feel enormous to them.

From where I'm standing, sometimes I can see that the problem isn't nearly as impossible as it feels from where they're standing. I have more years behind me. More perspective. Sometimes I already know there is a way through it.

But I've learned that correction often works differently when I begin with connection.

Maybe one child doesn't feel heard. Maybe another feels left out. Maybe someone is frustrated and doesn't know how to communicate it. Maybe one child wants closeness while another wants space. Maybe somebody's feelings were hurt and their reaction came out sideways.

That doesn't necessarily mean I have a bad child. It may mean I have a child who doesn't yet know what to do with what's happening inside them.

Children need correction. They need boundaries. They need consequences. They need responsibility.

But they also need to know:

Mom is still safe.

I can say, “That wasn't okay,” and still say, “Come here. Tell me what happened. Help me understand. What were you feeling? What could you do differently next time?”

Connection doesn't eliminate correction. Connection gives correction somewhere safe to land.

“For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth...” Hebrews 12:6 (KJV)

For whom He loves.

Maybe correction isn't evidence that we've stopped belonging. Maybe sometimes it's evidence that we do.

Connection With Me Changes Their Connection With Each Other

Honestly, the better my connection is with my children, the better they tend to love each other.

When they feel connected to me, heard by me, secure with me, and confident in my love, something about the atmosphere between them changes too.

They're still siblings. They still annoy each other. They still disagree. But when our connection is strong, they're often better able to extend patience, grace, affection, and forgiveness to one another.

Maybe part of that is because they aren't fighting as hard for connection. They already know they have it. There is room for all of them.

And that has made me think about our relationship with God.

“Abide in me, and I in you.” John 15:4 (KJV)

When I'm secure in His love, I don't have to compete with you for worth. Your blessing doesn't threaten mine. Your gift doesn't diminish mine. Your place doesn't remove mine.

Connection affects fruit.

The closer I walk with Christ, the more His heart has an opportunity to shape what comes out of mine.

We Were Cherished Before We Could Ever Be Useful

My children were valuable to me the moment I knew they existed.

Actually, valuable doesn't even feel like a big enough word.

I cherished them.

Before I knew what they would look like. Before I knew their personalities. Before I heard their voices. Before they could say my name. Before they could hug me. Before they could love me back. Before they could do a single thing for me.

The moment I knew each one was there, that life became precious to me.

I thought about them. Probably obsessed over them a little. I imagined what they might look like. Who they might become. I pictured holding them. I wondered about their personalities. As they grew inside me, I thought about their growth, their little hands, their faces, their lives.

They hadn't earned anything. They hadn't accomplished anything. They hadn't served me. They hadn't proven their potential.

They existed.

And I loved them.

Then I think about God.

My love for my children began when I discovered they existed.

God's didn't.

He knew them before I did. And He knew me before my mother knew me.

“Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee...” Jeremiah 1:5 (KJV)

Before.

Before my mother knew. Before anybody was imagining my face. He already knew me.

“How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them!” Psalm 139:17 (KJV)

Maybe we've spent so much of our lives thinking about what other people think about us that we've forgotten to consider something much greater.

God has thoughts toward us.

Our Worth Didn't Begin With Our Performance

My worth didn't begin when I became a mother. It didn't begin when I served someone. It didn't begin when someone needed me. It didn't begin when someone loved me well.

It didn't disappear when someone left. It didn't decrease when I got divorced. It didn't disappear when I made a mistake.

Because none of those things created it.

God knew me before any of them happened.

If another person didn't create my worth, another person doesn't have the authority to remove it.

If accomplishment didn't create my worth, failure can't erase it.

If usefulness didn't create my worth, rest doesn't threaten it.

If being needed didn't create my worth, someone becoming independent doesn't diminish it.

“For ye are bought with a price...” 1 Corinthians 6:20 (KJV)

A ransom says something about value.

Maybe restoration can't begin with, “Become valuable.”

It begins with:

Learn to receive the value God has already placed upon you.

We Have to Give Ourselves the Same Grace

It's sometimes easier to look at another person and recognize that there may be more underneath their behavior than we can see.

Fear can manifest in strange ways. Trauma can. Shame can. Insecurity can. Grief can. A desperate need to belong can.

That doesn't remove responsibility. But it can give us compassion.

And if we're willing to extend that understanding toward another person, maybe we need to learn how to extend some of it toward ourselves too.

Maybe we look backward and ask:

What was happening inside me?

Was I afraid? Was I wounded? Was I desperate to be loved? Was I trying to protect myself? Was I exhausted? Was I carrying shame? Was I trying to control something because everything else felt out of control?

Understanding isn't excusing.

If I hurt someone, I still need to own that. If I sinned, I need to repent. If I need to apologize, I should.

But condemnation stops at, “Look how terrible you were.”

Restoration asks:

What was happening there, and what does Christ want to heal so this doesn't have to keep coming out of me?

Grace lets us tell the whole truth.

I was wrong. And I'm still His.

I need correction. And I'm still His.

I have something that needs healing. And I'm still His.

Grace doesn't make truth smaller. It makes us safe enough to face it.

Falling Isn't the Same as Failing

Sometimes we say, “I failed.”

But maybe what actually happened is:

I fell. I misunderstood. I made a poor decision. I reacted from fear. I needed correction. I learned something.

“For a just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again...” Proverbs 24:16 (KJV)

He fell. And Scripture still called him just.

The important part wasn't that he never fell.

He rose again.

Maybe failure isn't falling. Maybe failure begins when we decide the fall gets the final word.

With Christ, we don't have to stay there.

Sometimes God Says, “Not This Way”

Maybe we begin walking toward something genuinely believing it's where we're supposed to go.

Then something changes. A door closes. New information comes. God convicts us. Something we couldn't see becomes visible.

And we realize: I need to change direction.

Paul and his companions were “forbidden of the Holy Ghost to preach the word in Asia,” Acts 16:6 (KJV), and when they tried to go into Bithynia, “the Spirit suffered them not.” Acts 16:7 (KJV).

Maybe God isn't standing behind us saying, “You almost ruined everything.”

Maybe sometimes He's simply saying:

Not this way. Come this way.

Being teachable is part of being restored.

We're allowed to grow.

We Cannot Ruin God's Story

Our choices matter. Obedience matters. Sin matters. What we do affects other people. Grace isn't permission to live carelessly.

But our mistakes don't make God stop being sovereign.

We aren't powerful enough to overthrow His purposes because we misunderstood something.

We cannot make ourselves the author of His story.

He is.

Maybe that's where an enormous amount of weight can finally come off our shoulders.

It isn't ultimately about us.

God's story doesn't become great because we performed our part perfectly. His story stands on its own. And by grace, He allows us to participate.

Victory Doesn't Always Look Like the Outcome We Wanted

Sometimes we define victory by outcome.

The marriage survives. The relationship is restored. The child makes the choice we hoped they'd make. The prayer gets answered exactly the way we prayed it. The door opens. The plan works. We get back what we lost.

But Jesus said:

“In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33 (KJV)

Sometimes victory is reconciliation. Sometimes victory is finally releasing something. Sometimes victory is staying. Sometimes victory is walking away faithfully. Sometimes victory is receiving what we prayed for. Sometimes victory is discovering we can trust God even when we don't.

Sometimes victory is God restoring the circumstance.

And sometimes victory is realizing the circumstance didn't have to change for God to restore us.

That's freedom.

Maybe They Loved Us the Best Way They Knew How

Sometimes healing changes the way we look at people who hurt us.

Maybe someone really did love us. Maybe they were trying. Maybe they gave us the best love they knew how to give at the time.

And maybe it still hurt.

Those things can exist together.

Maybe they loved us through wounds they hadn't healed yet. Through fears they didn't understand. Through insecurities they hadn't brought to God. Through things someone else had taught them about themselves.

Maybe they weren't intentionally trying to hand us their wound. It simply came out with everything else.

That doesn't remove responsibility. Love still requires truth. Harm still needs to be addressed. Boundaries may still be necessary.

But their inability to love us perfectly wasn't necessarily evidence that they didn't love us.

Some of What We Internalized May Never Have Been Ours

Someone was afraid we would leave. We internalized: I'm untrustworthy.

Someone was insecure about themselves. We internalized: I'm not enough.

Someone feared losing control. We internalized: I can't be trusted to make decisions.

Someone had been betrayed before us. We spent years proving we're not the person who betrayed them.

Maybe some of the things projected onto us weren't actually truths about us.

They were fears someone else was carrying.

Something projected onto us can still wound us.

But restoration requires us to ask:

Is this actually mine?

Is this something God says about me?

Or have I spent years carrying someone's fear as though it were my identity?

Perfect Love Begins Driving Fear Out

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear...” 1 John 4:18 (KJV)

God's love begins pushing fear out of the places where fear has been trying to love for us.

I don't have to control you because I'm afraid you'll leave.

I don't have to make myself indispensable so you'll need me.

I don't have to hide my weakness because I'm afraid you'll reject me.

I don't have to test you to see whether you'll stay.

I can love more freely because I'm receiving more fully.

Maybe we don't simply need to try harder to love better.

Maybe we need to abide more deeply in the One who is love.

Love Covers Without Concealing

“And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8 (KJV)

Love covering sin doesn't mean concealing abuse, ignoring danger, avoiding accountability, or pretending sin isn't sin.

Love refuses to make another person's failure their entire identity. It doesn't unnecessarily expose someone simply to humiliate them. It forgives. It gives room for repentance. It protects dignity while still telling the truth.

Love can say:

What you did was wrong.

And:

I still see a person Christ loves standing in front of me.

The Wound Can Stop Here

Maybe something was handed to us because someone else was hurting.

And if we don't heal, we may hand it to someone else.

That's how wounds can travel through families, marriages, generations, and relationships.

But they don't have to keep traveling.

Maybe the cycle stops when someone finally says:

This hurt me, but it doesn't have to become what comes through me.

Christ, heal this.

Show me what belongs to me.

Show me what never did.

Forgive me for what I've passed forward.

Help me forgive the person who passed it to me.

Heal them too.

Teach me to receive Your love deeply enough that what comes through me begins looking more like You.

That's restoration.

Not simply understanding where the wound came from.

Refusing to keep handing it forward.

“We love him, because he first loved us.” 1 John 4:19 (KJV)