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I am typing with five or six pieces of kinesiology tape stuck to my low back and hip. The girl who put it there, Carrie, is brilliant at all things biomechanical. The tape, placed in a specific and intricate pattern, lessens my pain. I am grateful.

Carrie is my most recent physical therapist in a ghastly long line of the orthopedic professionals that I have seen over the past ten years. God has seen fit after all these years to give me Carrie, who owns a restoration clinic. Restoration. Isn’t that what we all need?

Carrie is the first who has been confident that one day my body could be pain-free again. She’s the only one who has believed that one day I might no longer need a 1/2″ lift built into every left shoe. Her seemingly wonky ideas may finally be bringing muscular healing for me! Maybe. Anyway, she had me at shoes.

In case you are new to my story, shredded musculature, misplaced and dented titanium, and a non-attached critical hip component are just a few details that describe my botched total hip replacement. I have spent almost a decade s-l-o-w-l-y recovering. Now I can physically do most things I desire to do and I am thankful for this. Every day I’m grateful that I am no longer crippled, though varying pain levels are an everyday norm for me.

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As our grown kids started moving into their own places, I delighted in giving them anything we didn’t use or need furniture-wise to help them establish their new domains.
We handed over older beds and mattresses to help them get by until they could purchase newer ones. Last week one of our sons upgraded his sleeping station. This is the actual advertisement he posted for his old bed:

His phrase, “Broken yet functional, but aren’t we all in a way?” has had me in a perpetual pause.

This phrase makes me think about my kinesiology tape, broken journey, and aspiration over the years for restored functionality.
It makes me wonder and pray for you, dear reader, and the pain you may be enduring which limits you today.

This phrase has also challenged me to reflect deeply as I have pondered the difference between functioning and flourishing. Consider with me the lives of three godly women that I know. Each woman has had their share of suffering and brokenness on their earthly journey:

My 94-year-old friend Louella whose passionate, (still!) growing love for Jesus, grace-filled words, and continued work for God’s Kingdom, make me marvel. Her inward beauty is magnetizing!
My 76-year-old friend Barbara has cultivated a deeply ingrained habit of deflecting all praise upward to God and speaking quickly and reverently of His Sovereignty in all things. Her joy is infectious!
My wise, 82-year-old friend Lynne has the most beautiful eyes that dance and grow even bluer when she talks about the love of Jesus. Her deep satisfaction and contentment in God’s good plan are compelling!

To have time in the presence of these older sister sojourners is to glean firsthand what a vibrant, Kingdom-living life looks and sounds like, even though sprinkled with brokenness.
It would be a gross underestimation to say these women are merely “functioning .” No, each stunningly lovely one of them is flourishing! In that they are imitating Jesus, I want to be like them.

My heart turns heavenward. Jesus was crushed for our iniquity, beaten beyond recognition, and broken to extremes that I don’t think we can fully comprehend.
Paying the penalty for our sins, the eternal purpose of Jesus’ pain was that we could be restored to the Father. Because of Jesus, our brokenness yields endurance, character, and hope. Because of Jesus, we can live a hopeful and thriving life.

Jesus suffered, died, and came to life again so that we might flourish.
Restoration and flourishing despite brokenness? Yes, both of these are mercifully ours in Jesus.

“I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten.” -Joel 2:25