Broken Made New

Hey,

Yay I actually updated! I hope y'all enjoy this!
And, as always,
May this make you think,

Jen

~

"Lord Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." The cry echoed off of the walls of the cold, stone entry hall of the gigantic home as she laid on her hands and knees, not having the strength to stand. It came from a place science could not understand, and reason could not not explain. That place in one's soul where the dark clashes with the light and all of one's emotions go before coming out like a flood.

It was a cry of desperation, without tears or anger just pure horror, shock, and sadness that came from when one had examined their life to find it to be all for naught, useless and wasted. 

"Lord Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." His cry was one of tears. They came from the heart, one that felt as black as night without the drum of a heartbeat. He knelt as if before a king, and wept, allowing tears to fall down his face. How could he have fallen so far? How could his life turn from a blazing Yule log to burnt ashes? Where was that love now?

And the homeless children under the bridge put on a brave front, but inside  they cried from loneliness, desperation, fear, and exhaustion. The cry that rose came from living on the streets as a child. "Lord Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me", became a chorus among the many voices under the bridge. And during that night, the pure defeat in their voices would have broken hearts of stone. 

And that cry, that desperate shout, or the quiet plea, that prayer brought the one thing the world couldn't bring them, peace on that cold winter's night. Within the world's raging, and the seas crashing, and whilst the earth spins one way, the hearts of the broken were spun the opposite way, pulled above the crushing waves, and lifted out of this spiraling void, set aside for the glory of the Lord, and mercy, peace, and grace became abundant in them. 

Sometimes all it takes is a few words. Lord Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me, a sinner. 

The Search for Truth Chapter 1

       

Hey guys! 

It's been way way too long. Uh about 3 1/2 months to be exact. I love writing but sophomore year has taken up my time. So I hope this makes up for some of it (I know it doesn't but oh well, I can try). If you like this, comment please thank you!

Love y'all. 

May this make you think,

Jen

-

"In prison cells and dungeon vile, thoughts to them, are winging. When friends by shame are undefiled. How can I keep, how can I keep, how can I keep, from singing?" The choir was lovely. It truly was. It almost always was. But, as always, my teacher didn't like the sound. 

"Does anyone know what you are singing?" She asked, slightly annoyed. To be fair, we had a concert in less than a week so I'm not surprised she was like this. "It's not in Hebrew or Gaelic. It's in English. So can someone tell me what this song is about?"

Silence. Dead silence. And we were choir kids. Choir kids don't do total quiet. But there wasn't a song in the air, not a single note rang in the room.

But to be honest, I had no clue what the song was about. I mean sure, I knew it was about God and something about singing. But I could never connect with this song. Not like  L'dor Vador  or anything else we'd sung. Why? I didn't know. I just couldn't. 

The teacher sighed and looked out the window. "I'm gonna tell you a story. It's not one I'm technically allowed to tell you on a campus, but maybe it'll help you understand what this song is about."

Now the class was intrigued. We knew she didn't like the school system but even this seemed out of the norm for her. But even the annoying girl in front of me put her phone down to listen. 

"Now I went to college at a very, very atheistic school. And overtime I went from a Christian to a skeptic to a scathing hater very rapidly. College will do that to you. And when I was there I had some good teachers and some bad ones. But there was one I remember the most. His name was Dr. Williamson. And everyone in the school knew he was a Christian and many, including myself, openly mocked him for it in his gospel music lectures. But he would just smile and continue on with his lecture.

"It was the last month of my last year and I almost had my credential. Now I'd had Mr. Williamson every semester since freshman year, and I was writing a long, three month long paper about some dead composer. 

"If there's one thing you don't do in college, it's plagiarize. You just don't. You can work your behind off getting there and then in less than twenty four hours, get kicked out. Now I'd never plagiarized in my life. It just wasn't worth it. So I had no worries and turned in the paper, and felt major relief. My last big project was over. But that feeling was short lived. A week later, Dr. Williamson called he into his office with an unusual serious  expression on his face. 'Ginger,' he spoke gravely. 'I never would have expected this of you.'

"This confused me. 'Sir?'

" 'Miss, I regret to inform you that we will have to have a hearing on plagiarism.'

"My hand flew to my mouth. 'What?' That wasn't possible. I knew everything I had put in this paper was in the works cited.

" 'You really have no idea do you?' Dr. Williamson looked away from me and at the cross hanging in his office. I looked too. And I just started praying. 'God if you're there help me! Please, I can't get kicked out, please!'

" 'School policy calls for a hearing.' He said. And I understood. I was getting kicked out. Even if it was a mistake. 'However, God doesn't want that for you. If you update your works cited for me, tonight, I will let you stay in.'

"For the second time that hour, my hand flew into my mouth and I started to cry. 'Thank you God. Thank you!'

"That was the last time I ever saw Dr. Williamson. He died shortly after that meeting. Of all that has happened in my life, I still get overwhelmed when I think of that. 

"But that's grace. True grace. A never ending gift that flows from God. And it's completely free. It isn't something we earn. God made us family and He won't toss us out. I was saved by grace shortly after that, and later I was told that his short appearance at my baptism was the last Sunday Dr. Williamson was alive. 

"So I thank God for this grace. And that's the point of this song. It's a celebration of His free, never ending, all consuming grace. So can you give me that feeling? That emotion of complete freedom?"

I sat there stunned. That happened to her? But why? Why would the professor do that for her? I'd never know. A few weeks later, when I'd finally gotten up the courage to ask Mrs. Smith about grace, we'd been told that she passed away, shielding a small child from a gunman. 

And as I sat at her funeral, a spark ignited in me. That was the start of my lifelong quest for the truth.