I have been broken. It has happened once in my life.
Busted-up, bruised, beat down, torn apart, anxiety and fear-ridden and in despair … I’ve seen a lot of those things in my life.
One day, I knew I was completely broken. I never denied Christ when it came time as a young adult to walk – or spring – to the altar for the first time.
But once, in a country not my own, in a house temporarily my living quarters, on a carpet that I was happy to have, I was broken.
It was the day when I knew only God could work the miracle I needed and for the first time in my life I felt compelled to hit the floor.
I poured out everything I had harbored and asked God to show me what else was in His way of healing me.
“I want you to have it God – all of it.”
Broken became repaired.
Broken became healed.
It started that day, in my soul.
A week later I walked into my military hospital to return my records from the German Neuro Surgery clinic. My legs walked and my face beamed as I “accidentally” ran into my doctor. His face lit up and he knew I had been healed.
I said, “God did this.” He said, “I can see that.”
After a big hug of thanks, I turned on my heels and left to wander the hard cobblestone and brick streets of the city with my family.
Broken, healed, and free.
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