
We all know that old wounds come back to haunt us as we age. The injuries we experienced in our youth, a time when we thought we were invincible, surface once again as the aches and pains of old age .I suppose I expected those old wounds would affect this old body. What I did not anticipate were echoes of wounds of the heart and soul.
This photo taken by my nephew Dillan has informed my prayers and meditations for many months. He looks a little too much like me for comfort. Is this my nephew, or is this me? It’s an easy mistake to make given the family resemblance.
Instead of the clean and polished appearance I hope to see in the mirror most mornings, this image reminds me I am far from perfect. Emotional baggage I thought was long gone seems to resurface when I least expect it. Perhaps healing is more like peeling an onion than letting go of an old suitcase. God offers the healing I can handle one layer at a time, in His time not mine. Healing seems more of a journey full of twists and turns rather than a simple trip straight to a destination.
Then I started to see more than just my nephew or me in this photo. What if I am looking at each and every one of us? What do you see? What if we are looking at all of humanity in the flesh at this time? Perhaps the cracks represent our desire to cling to the pain of brokenness rather than face the fear of growth and transformation. Is it too much to believe a healing has been prepared for us? Is it too difficult to see ourselves as a full reflection of the image of Christ, God incarnate, messy, complicated, yet somehow complete?
Each of us struggle to listen to God amidst the noises and chaos of the world. The world says why bother – we are all out for ourselves – that’s the whole story. It doesn’t matter if you are wrong. It only matters if you get caught breaking the rules. Then just lie about it so much and so often that nobody can remember the truth.
God says just start there. So what if you are broken? We all are. Once we know where we are broken, we begin to grow and heal. We begin to live into what God has created us to be. We claim the promise of abundant life, messy, complicated and yet complete. We can weather new wounds along with the echo of old wounds as just another part of the journey. More than that, we begin to see the world not as random individuals but as brothers and sisters, also broken, also in need of abundant grace, also seeking abundant life. We continue on this journey, seeing the twists and turns as a way to weave together the story of God that includes each and every one of us.
Where are you today? Is the world too loud and overwhelming? See healing is a journey and simply make time apart to reflect. Just a few minutes will do. The first step is to claim what is sheer gift. God loves you just as you are, here and now. Not because of who you are or what you have or what you do. Just because you are you and God is God. Rest in the wideness in God’s mercy, mercy that creates space where you can right-size yourself, trust in forgiveness for where you fall short and continue to grow and heal. And always remember, God just asks us to be present and open to that healing, in His time, not ours.
Text by Connie Chintall ©2025, All Rights Reserved
Photo entitled ‘Fractured Reflection’, by Dillan Brobofski©2024, used with his permission, All Rights Reserved.








The younger generation amazes and baffles me. I love the time I spend with my daughter and younger friends and relatives. Intense memories of my younger days awaken to delight and disturb me. Like this amazing digital art by my friend Rabirius, I recall running full speed ahead, missing more flowers than I paused to stop and smell. The twenties are a difficult time, a time when we all seek identity and purpose. Most of all, we set the trajectory for the rest of our lives. Small course corrections can make huge differences later on, so it can be difficult to understand how much to help and how much to just listen. I must admit I am not good at this sort of thing on my own. It is so easy to swoop in and take charge, to flatten out all obstacles, to impose my version of right and wrong. Yet if I open myself up, if I truly listen, I soon learn how different the world is now than the world of my youth. Opportunities abound that I could not even begin to imagine, opportunities to soar and opportunities to crash and burn. Yes, the stakes are high, but the highest stakes lie in the decision making itself. My daughter and her contemporaries must live with their decisions, walk their own paths, discover their own ways of making a difference in the world. So I hold open a space to allow the excitement and pain and confusion to flow. I wait then wait again before I ask a question. I open more than my mind. I open my heart and soul. That monumental effort takes a generosity of spirit than I am unable to offer on my own. That openness is the fruit of consistent and faithful prayer, lifting up their concerns on a regular basis, praying for understanding and enlightenment for their path ahead. Sometimes than generosity means stepping aside because I am not the right person for this junction in the road. I can be generous because opening the circle does not diminish me, it enlarges me. The circle grows as their path, not mine, takes us all to amazing places and allows dreams to become reality. Most of all, that generosity overflows in unexpected ways, opening up new beginnings in people and places thought long past healing or renewal. Make time to pray for those you love, even if your relationship is strained or difficult. Pray for their concerns, their path ahead, their way to make a difference. Let go of expectations to open up your heart and mind and soul. Most of all, let God weave our paths together, enfolding us in the greatest circle of all. Text by Connie Chintall ©2017, photo entitled ‘Nothing but Flowers’ by Rabirius©2016-2017, used with his permission, All Rights Reserved. To see more of his work, go to
Easter has come and gone and our yard is full of blooms. I find myself noticing familiar bulbs and volunteers transplanted by the wind as I walk the dog in the early morning. Yet I discover the unexpected under my feet more often than above my head. I wonder if I would have noticed this extravagant flower arrangement over the entrance to Christ’s Church in Georgetown on Easter Sunday. Fortunately my good friend took this photo, most likely while carrying her new baby Lily. How often do we find ourselves in a rush, charging forward with our heads down, focused only on our destination? How much beauty escapes our gaze as we strain to look ahead? Even my grocery shopping can be fraught with folks in a hurry. Every time I shop at the grocery store on the DC side of town, someone runs into the back of my heels with their cart. Now I know I am a very slow shopper, stopping to read labels and check prices. Yet I still amazed at how often folks are shocked to have run into me, only noticing I am there when we collide. What does it take for us to notice where we are going? To notice if someone is ahead of us or in the way? Notice is something we can give or take. To take notice means ‘to immerse oneself into the experience’. Do we take only what serves our purposes at the time, or do we soak in the context offered by the whole scene? Then there is the notice we give when we quit a job or leave a position. I wonder if we quit when we are no longer noticed, no longer particular. Do we leave when we become lost in the sea of sameness? Do we look for something new when we lose our sense of being unique? Last but not least, there are things we do and do not notice in our personal lives. All too often arguments arise when I fail to notice something that is important to a loved one, focusing on only what is important to me. If I cannot see past my own nose, I surely cannot open my heart beyond my own interests. Make time today to look up and around. Take notice of what crosses your path and touches your heart. Enjoy the beauty along the way, rather than simply focusing on your destination. Slow down enough to soak in the entire situation, allowing God to draw your eyes and ears to the wonder and awe of His creation. Most of all, be present to those you love, taking the time to look and listen with your heart in the only and eternal now. Text by Connie Chintall ©2017, photo entitled ‘Lilies Above’ by Jen Ayers©2017, used with her permission, All Rights Reserved. To learn more about Jen’s creative work, go to
For far too long I have been pondering what it means to have regrets. Perhaps I should begin with my regrets over taking so long between posts. That may seem like a silly place to start, until you take a hard look at the definition of the word regret. The word regret originates in the French word ‘regreter’, meaning bewail the dead. Regret focused on our feelings toward the dead, or more likely our actions or words to those now deceased. In more recent times, we tend to talk about our own past when we use the word regret. We bewail the lost opportunities of our youth, the paths not taken, the words we ought to have left unsaid. Yet it seems to me regret is not all that simple. I keep going over the words of the general confession.