Bruised Grace

 All is peaceful on a cool, Fall night as I sit inside my cozy home, wrapped up in a blanket and this chef has me engrossed in this recipe for homemade pizza, and the smells and flavors look so appealing I could almost step right through the tv and taste them. As he goes to season the sauce, he makes a passing comment that stops me right-hard and gives me metaphoric pause. Grabbing a bunch of fresh oregano, he crushes the leaves in his hand and says that the flavor and the aroma of the herb really comes through as you bruise it and suddenly, I'm led to see once again what I always have to be reminded of: 

A bruised soul releases savory flavor into a life and the hurt places - the scars, the wounds - document the story of where you've been... who you became. Try to live a life without getting crushed, and you'll end up having life crush you. Because the bruising brings out what's hidden. 

I have a hard time listening to the rest of the show and probably miss a few sentences afterward because I'm picturing the powerful image this gives. And now I'm thinking about all bruises and what they have to teach me about the pain-marks I carry, and I realize two things that seem synonymous with bruises, be they internal or eternal: 

1. They are unsightly. And don't all of us somehow feel as though our crushed places are too hard to look at? Don't each of us in a way try to turn away from looking at the parts of ourselves that hurt the most? Because soul-bruising feels like it ruins the perfection and instead of noticing its potential for good, we just think that nobody, including ourselves, should lay eyes on these spaces of our stories, let alone want to. 

2. They hurt. When you get a bruise, whether you know how it happened or not, it's tender to the touch. It's sensitive for awhile, and it hurts. Temporarily forget about it and accidentally touch or bump it, and it'll quickly remind you that it's there and, until it heals fully, it will continue to remind you of its existence. Soul-crushing is no different and the things that have wounded you deeply never let you really forget about their presence. Unless you have done the work to help them mend, they will forever be a sensitive part of you, always lying under the surface. 

And I also see an added factor in that you can't always figure out how bruises come. There aren't necessarily clear connections between a certain action and the resulting wound. They just sometimes appear for reasons we can't quite figure out. Some heartache is like that, too. You can't always discern why a certain sadness, pain, anger, anxiousness, depression suddenly came on. You just now know there's a bruise there and it needs tending to. It needs a gentle, healing touch. It needs time. 

Fail to acknowledge the ugly and the hurt of inner bruises or try to seek out a source or answer when there isn't one, and the bruise will never mend correctly. Ignore or over-obsess and either way isn't helpful. The way to heal what's crushed inside is to make space for it and deal kindly with it. And to realize that even the unsightly imperfections of it, the pain of it, and all the unknowns associated with it still have something valuable to show to you - reveal inside of you. 

I said it years ago to myself and I keep saying it over and over again: suffering is the secret agent which God uses to draw out the soul. And if the crushes leaves of an herb can bring forth such sweetness, then isn't it possible for a soul to release its bravest, most aromatic flavors with a little pressure from life? Couldn't the bruising bring to life hidden parts of the heart that otherwise lie dormant? 

In this moment, a scripture suddenly comes to mind as I realize this is the Jesus-way. This is the path to all redemptive outcomes in light of the broken things... 

"He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed" (Isaiah 53:5). 

The bruising of Christ brought about our healing and if there was no other way for Him than to allow Himself to be broken, then the very soul-marks we bear that prove we've been crushed too are just reminders that we follow in His steps. That we are disciples of a God who always takes the suffering way because such a way leads to true life - to blessing, fulfillment, and hope. And who are we as His children to expect any other path! 

I take a glance at my own bruises inside and remind myself that the very Hands that seem as though they crush me actually hold me and lovingly press me to release what's within and allow the hidden to come out and season my life. And those same Hands belong to One who promised long ago that a "bruised reed he shall not break" (Matt. 12:20). 

Chef pushes the oregano leaves into a stone with nuts and oils and garlic and all the delicious things and grinds and presses them down into a burst of flavorful-ness and I find myself praying that this would be my life's offering, however painful. After all, the ancient Jews were told to bring as part of their first-fruits offering "bruised grain of the fresh ear" (Leviticus 2:14). 

Praise is sometimes a sacrifice of bringing to God all the parts of ourselves that have yet to be made well. 

And if imperfect grain can be considered acceptable to God - if He says that seeds must be buried in the ground and die - if crushed herbs are choice seasonings in the recipes of life - than a heart that's been wounded still has its own goodness to give. A goodness God knows can't come forth unless it's crushed.