It’s been long since I pinned words to paper, since I set aside moments to let my thoughts flow–but there’s a little something I’ve been learning here in the desert, here in the middle of serving, of giving, that I must let the ink run.

I’m not going to give an account of glorious miracles, of unending ease, of a perfect ministry. I’m simply going to lay the pieces bare, let honesty speak for herself.

Because really, most days look like a little broken boy screaming in class, throwing his chair across the room, seething in defiance, in unresolved hurt. Most days look like mustering all my strength to drag myself back to the small schoolroom, back to something I don’t particularly enjoy, back to giving love when all I want is to crawl in a hole and cry. Most days look like an unending hurricane of planning, organizing, and executing those plans. Most days look like jumping from one program to the next, expending the last of my energy. Most days look like questioning and second guessing every decision I make, every action taken. Most days look like an overwhelming sense of inadequacy, of inefficiency.

Most days look like a mess.

And I’m living with these people who are living the same messy realities I am–brokenness.

It’s addictions and abuse, neglect and darkness that overshadow their days. These people live hard lives. And I’m struck because here, there is no shame is naming the hard, in admitting the ugly, embracing the broken. They’re open and willing to say, “I didn’t have a good day”, “I’m struggling”, “I’m not doing well”. Brutal honesty is what keeps them sane. I’m humbled at their long, fervent prayers, the tears they weep for their people. They are all connected by this one truth–life is not easy. Hard days happen. We’re all broken and a mess.

It hits hard.

I’ve been accustomed to the subtle American culture of insisting that everything is ‘always fine’, accustomed to millions of individuals hiding behind a faulty facade of perfection. It’s been labeled taboo to admit the hard. People are shamed for admitting brokenness, shamed for admitting the darkness, which inevitably leads to a shallow exterior. It results in thousands of people alone and afraid to admit reality. But we’re all only covering up a world of ugliness that is really just a common thread linking all of humanity together–this brokenness, this pain.

And me too. I’ve been living the lies as best I can, living the lies that life is fine–I’m fine. I’ve been covering up and hoping these hard days would morph into and become the lies I’m striving to live–the lies that I am fine. Always fine. But I’m learning that ignoring the dark side is not called positivity. It’s called naivety.

Because you cannot grow through what you ignore.

There IS a difference between dwelling on the dark side and acknowledging the dark side, and though it is never right to dwell in negativity, you can only learn from what you acknowledge. Ignoring the pain has the equivalent effect that dwelling in the pain has.

Success is not finalized by becoming blind to brokenness.

The simple truth is, hard days happen. And the question then is, what are you going to do with your hard days? Ignore their existence? Let them become your darkening shadow, your constant sidekick? True positivity is acknowledging the hard, embracing the brokenness, admitting the ugly and choosing to grow through what you go through, choosing to praise God’s name anyway, and daring to believe God is only and always good.

It’s a choice. It’s your choice.

And choosing grace and glory in the hard and ugly?

That’s boldness. That’s bravery. That’s courage. That’s joy in the crucible.