One sapphire summer day, as my sons played around my favored magnolia tree, it somehow lost a limb. The loss left a scar etched upon the trunk. Yet to my relief, the tree remained resilient, keeping quiet watch over our days, our years.
Recently, as my camera and I strolled around the yard, I bent to capture a fragrant bloom. That’s when I noticed the magnolia’s scar isn’t as visible anymore, for branches now flourish all around her wound. She is broken yet whole. Abundant life reaches wide from within that scarred magnolia of mine.
As I pondered this, I realized I’m my own version of a broken magnolia.
Wounds of rejection etched upon me long ago, even by those I’d expected to love and protect me, have left their scars. Maybe you have some scars too.
Yet looking back on my life marked by times of rejection, I see the active presence of a faithful God through it all, and I realize the hurt that left me feeling broken never limited God’s power in my life. He is not limited in your life, either, no matter what scars you may bear.
Those wounds etched upon me have grown a heart within me that God uses to offer blooms of compassion and belonging to others. Broken yet whole. Flourishing limbs of purpose reach wide from within these scars of mine.
In Scripture, Jacob’s favored son, Joseph, understood this well.
Sold into slavery by jealous brothers, Joseph struggled in the foreign land of Egypt. Yet God gave him wisdom and influence there, and ultimately God led Pharaoh to give Joseph authority over the entire land of Egypt. Joseph eventually married and had a family. When his second son was born, Joseph named him Ephraim, which echoes a Hebrew word meaning “fruitful.”
“… For he said, ‘God has made me fruitful in this land of my grief’” (Genesis 41:52).
Through it all, God faithfully grew new life and purpose all around the grief in Joseph’s story. God also used Joseph to provide relief in Egypt, both for the Egyptians and for his own father and brothers, during a famine (Genesis 40-47).
You see, God’s activity isn’t limited by our understanding. Even when His hand is not visible from today’s perspective, our faithful God is working amid the scars of our stories, growing abundant life and purpose.
Dear friend, the broken parts of your story don’t make you a broken person. You’re still the whole, cherished, purpose-filled woman God created you to be. The wounds of your story are not lost on your God. Take heart — though you fear they might limit you, your scars can become powerful testaments of the God who tenderly meets you in them, growing abundance in their midst.
Dear Lord, I trust You. Thank You for tenderly growing new life around my every broken place. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
