Some thoughts for Lent

I knew a boy who was 17. He was angry. His house is full of holes. The anger just seemed to build up and build up inside of him, and then he'd punch his fist into the wall. There are holes in the kitchen, and holes in the basement. When he punched a hole through the front door, they covered it with a "no soliciting" sign.

One day, he began to pound his bedroom door. Punch after punch after punch. 'Til the door was all covered in holes.

We stood there one night, he and I, in front of his bedroom door. It was already broken. Ugly. Useless. So I pulled out a Sharpie.

And I scribbled across top: POW MIA

I handed the Sharpie to him. EVERYONE WRITES ON THE DOOR BUT ME!

We passed the Sharpie back and forth, back and forth, writing our graffiti on the door.

As I stepped back to look at our finished work, I was surprised by the result. What had been an old, broken door now looked like a piece of modern art. The holes looked planned, the writing purposeful.

Sometimes the pain we carry around is overwhelming. Marriage problems. Health issues. Memories.

We lie awake wishing the past could be erased, the pain lifted.

I do wonder sometimes why the people I love have to face so much. But I also know that it is those painful moments that have ultimately drawn me closer to God, and made me who I am. It is those exhausting days and sleepless nights that God has used to transform me.

It is often what is ugly, broken, and useless that He turns into art.