Broken.

If They Saw Inside

Verse 1:

I knelt between the pews

And listened to the preacher pray

Thanking God for young people

And asking that He be my stay

He prayed that I would be a light

He asked that God would guide me

How different would his prayer have been

If he could’ve seen inside me?

Chorus:

What would people think

If they saw inside this heart of mine?

What would be people say

If they knew about the tears I’ve cried?

What would be the result

If they all knew the truth?

What would people think,

If they could see inside?

Verse 2:

“There’s a reason that I noticed;

I see the missionary in you.

It’s inspired me, your willingness,

To go where others rarely do.”

I glowed with pleasure then;

But now I close my eyes.

What words would take the place of those,

If they could see inside?

Chorus:

What would people think

If they saw inside this heart of mine?

What would be people say

If they knew about the tears I’ve cried?

What would be the result

If they all knew the truth?

What would people think,

If they could see inside?

Verse 3:

I’ve fought a losing battle,

I’ve tried myself to free.

I’ve wished that I was anywhere

But where God wanted me.

I’ve sobbed in silent sorrow

I’ve listened to the tempter’s lies.

What is Jesus thinking now;

Can He see inside?

Chorus:

What would Jesus think

If He saw inside this heart of mine?

What would Jesus say

If He knew about the tears I’ve cried?

Would I be forgotten

If He knew the truth?

What would Jesus think,

If He could see inside?

Bridge:

I sit, wrapped up in shadows

Tears gleam in my eyes.

The tortured though, it haunts me:

What if all could see inside?

Verse 3:

But then I heard a whisper

From Someone up above:

“It really doesn’t matter;

I see, and I still love.

I’m watching all your struggles

And I think no less of you.

Keep trying, and you’ll make it:

I’ll bring you to the truth.”

Chorus (very softly):

So, it doesn’t matter what people think

If they see inside.

It doesn’t matter what they say

About the many tears I’ve cried.

If everyone on Earth forgets,

I’ll look up to the sky

And thank the Lord for loving me

Even though He sees inside.

 

I have to ask it.

I've asked it before, and really honestly wondered. What kind of missionary am I, anyway?

People from home tell me they're proud of me. People are praying for me. It was the love and support of people from home that got me here. 

I'm here to tell you honestly. I'm nothing to be proud of. 

I've been fighting a losing battle. I know that I can sound poetically pious online, in a blog post, but really, if you could see behind the computer screen, there's nothing but a little girl. Tempted, just like you. Sometimes failing, just like you. Weary, impatient, wavering, doubtful....

Broken.

My throat gets tight as I type the words. I'm broken. No more worthy to be a missionary than to even be accepted, loved, and forgiven by God. 

But that's the key.

I may be broken, but God is the fixer of things broken. The healer of things wounded. The lover of things unlovely. For I know I certainly am all three... and I also know that He loves me anyway.

Oh, He doesn't love the sin in the sinner. The rebellion in the rebel. But he loves the sinner and the rebel. 

I am both.

All I can ask is for strength to do what I cannot. For the power from heaven to climb another Everest. And for my climb to inspire, not discourage the onlooking world from the assurance that God is working. That He is powerful. And that He will be victorious.

If He isn't, it will be my own fault. 

But by His grace, this battle is won. This broken vessel will be whole. 

Make me whole, Lord God.