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.
There are days when I wonder who I am. How do I define myself? How do I hold on to who I am in the face of daily personal challenges and bewildering news stories? I keep going back to this intriguing image of an old, rusted Ford Fairlane. The sedan is long past its prime and even the vine attached to it seems to lack life. I joined the military almost forty years ago after a series of poor decisions. I walked away from a full scholarship at the University of Virginia, or perhaps it is better to say I ran away with a truck driver. I chose my heart over my head, for a relationship I thought would last the rest of my life. Instead, I found myself back home with my parents, without that relationship, without my education, without a job. I took a few jobs that paid well and was promoted quickly, only to find I had topped out since I lacked a college education. So I enlisted in the Air Force and headed off to basic training. Fifty women were housed in an open bay barracks. Each of us had a bed, a chair, a narrow closet and two dresser drawers. A corner of the bottom drawer was allotted for ‘personal effects’. Everything else I had brought with me was stored away under lock and key. I kept a box of stationery with family pictures tucked inside. I kept my prayer book. And I kept a favorite cotton shirt I had sewn and embroidered. Over the next six weeks, every waking hour was spent in training. We learned how to dress, how to march, how to fold our clothes. On Sunday morning we could go to church or stay in the barracks and clean. Most gals went to the generic Protestant service. I chose to walk across the post to the Episcopal service, risky business since new recruits were subject to spot inspections and dreaded demerits. By the time I sunk into the pew, soaked with sweat, I wondered what I had been thinking. The first half of that service was a blur. Then they played the communion hymn, ‘Humbly I Adore Thee’. This hymn was the summer favorite at St. Mary’s in Burlington, NJ. My bones know the words to this hymn and I felt an immediate sense of God’s love. I walked back to the barracks humming it. Over the next few days I found myself again, the me I traded away when leaving college. As I became more myself, I found it easier to connect with the fifty women in my unit. We scrubbed the floors singing that hymn, then a country western tune, then a Motown hit. We stopped being fifty separate women and became a single unit. We shared who we were and became more than the sum of our parts. As individuals we were like this rusted out car. Even the vines they tried to lay over us failed to offer connection. It was singing as we worked that brought us together. There are two pieces to the cross. The upright connects us to God. The horizontal connects us to one another. The essence of our humanity is the divine spark in each of us. Yet without connection we simply sputter out and fade away. Make time today to connect with the Holy of Holies. Lay the weariness of the world at God’s feet, then crawl into God’s lap and rest in unending love. Share what feeds your soul with a friend over a cup of coffee or simple lunch. Let go of canned expectations and sensational news. Look beyond the surface and listen to the hearts of those you meet, even when what you hear is uncomfortable. God does not expect us to all be the same yet God loves us all the same. May God grant us the courage to open our hearts and be vulnerable to one another so that we may we love one other just as God loves us. Text by Connie Chintall©2016, Photo entitled ’55 & Vine’ by Rick Martin©2016, All Rights Reserved. To see more of Rick’s work, go to 
Seek the Sacred Amidst the Ordinary 