What a pleasure to talk with Marshalltown H.S. graduate Melissa Hassman on the morning show. Melissa was selected to represent her school for the National Council of Teachers of English writing Contest.
Melissa wrote about Mark Schultz song “Broken and Beautiful and won one of the Iowa awards! Congratulations Melissa!
Melissa says that “Broken and Beautiful” is one of her favorite songs because it reminds her that it doesn’t matter who you are… God loves it when we are broken and admit our need for Him.
Broken and Beautiful
by Melissa Hassman
(Inspired by the song of the same name by Mark Shultz)
The sun shone brightly on Grace Church of the Bible that Sunday morning. It was a small church with a little steeple-the kind seen in paintings of picturesque villages. This particular spring morning the church was especially full of people. The ushers looked for places to seat the last few members, and all their eyes lighted on the front row-the only open row in the sanctuary.
They made for an unusual group in the front pew. Tom Guilders lowered himself onto the seat with his usual air of confidence. He wore his regular outfit-a pressed suit and stainless white shirt. Tom was a businessman and active church member. Tom was rarely ever late; this morning was the exception. Violet Potter took her seat gingerly next to Tom. The widowed woman lived a block from the church. On days when her arthritis wasn’t acting up, she walked to the Sunday service. On the other days, the pastor gave her a ride. Either way, she usually arrived a good half-hour before the service. The congregation couldn’t remember a time when Violet had been this late before. Next to Violet perched Megan Jones, her face glowing in its usual sunny smile. The teenage girl drove alone to church every Sunday. It wasn’t uncommon for Megan walk in late, but her radiant beam and genuine joy made it impossible for anyone to hold it against her. Lissa Lawrence slouched next to Megan, fingers drumming restlessly on the wooden pew. Many suspected Lissa only attended church at her parents’ rule. Now that Lissa had her own car and drove separately, she always arrived with little time to spare before the service and left as soon as possible afterward. As the notes of the first hymn filled the chapel, the unlikely group-the businessman, the elderly lady, and the two teens: one sweet and the other defiant-settled into the pew.
Of course Tom Guilders had heard the phrase There but for the grace of God, go I, but he didn’t really believe it. When Tom looked back at his life, he saw nothing remotely similar to the homeless man on the street, the prisoner on death row, the alcoholic struggling with his addiction, or even the man pulled over for a speeding ticket. Tom was a good person: a classy businessman, a devoted husband and father, and a respected Elder at church. Of course Tom had his flaws. Didn’t the Bible itself say, “All have sinned”? But, as Tom reasoned to himself, some have sinned more than others.
Usually as he entered church, Tom made sure to scan the rows filled with congregation members. It made him feel good, with thoughts pouring naturally, almost involuntarily in his mind as he saw each face. “Mr. Garber is here. What a surprise! He hasn’t come in five months, but has still managed to keep his name in the church phone book. When will the Tompsons start to obey God and tithe? That Lawrence girl shouldn’t wear those grungy jeans to church. I’d never let my daughter out of the house in those! Who is that young man with the ear piercings and the tattoo? He looks like he just came out of Juvenile Hall.” After the stream of prideful thoughts, Tom would stand a bit taller and hope everyone else would learn to follow his example.
But today Tom barely noticed the faces in the other pews. His posture wasn’t as straight as usual, and the natural self-assuredness he outwardly displayed barely masked his inner insecurities. Tom had been humbled last Friday-humbled by unexpected, terrible, mortifying news from his serious-faced boss.
“I’m sorry, Tom, but I can’t do anything. The company is downsizing this coming summer, and we can’t pay two people for your position anymore. The other man has seniority. We’re going to have to let you go.” The apologetic voice of his boss played over again in Tom’s mind. Nothing could have prepared him for this shock. A thousand reactions raced through his mind-denial, anger, numbness, and fear. “This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m better than this,” Tom whispered to himself.
So far, no one knew about his awful news. Tom hadn’t even told his wife yet. She deserved to know, of course, but something kept Tom from admitting it aloud yet. The fewer people aware, the better. Today Tom had delayed going to church, letting his wife take the kids separately. Now he avoided eye contact. They mustn’t know. He’d get through this alone. He’d find another job and become even more successful than before. Tom was usually good at believing his positive self-affirmations, but today, however, he had his doubts.
Sixty-one years. Violet Potter told herself the anniversaries would get easier as time passed, but in reality they seemed to get more and more difficult with each passing year. It had been eight long years since Roy had gone to be with Jesus, and Violet thanked God that the pain of his cancer had been washed away. Still, it would have been sixty-one years today…Violet could still close her eyes and vividly see his eager face as he waited for his bride so many years before. That face had tan skin and large brown eyes. The eyes…even in the end they had never failed to light up when she entered the room or to take on a determined concentration as he listened to Violet’s troubles. The mouth…usually it had been turned up in a perky grin, or parted in a whistle as he jauntily worked around the house. Violet could still hear his laughter and smell his pungent aroma of sweat and salt when he came back from his long fishing trips. “Oh, Roy,” Violet whispered. “Why did you have to go?”
Of course Violet tried to keep herself busy in hopes that work would distract her from the ache of loneliness. She still taught piano lessons, and she played the organ for church when the arthritis in her hands didn’t bothering her. The pain would ease somewhat, but then she would notice something that reminded her of Roy, and her grief would return. Anything could prompt the memories: the first sweet corn of the season (Roy’s favorite), Roy’s old fishing tackle in the garage, or the red checked dress Roy had bought for her which was still hanging in the back of her closet. Today Violet had lain in bed staring at the corner cabinet Roy had built just two years before the cancer set in.
Even as the words of the first hymn floated in her ears, Violet half-expected to hear Roy’s off-key voice joining the others. But no…nothing could change the fact that for eight years, she had been alone. It had been so hard to get up this morning; the thought of another lonely day wearied Violet.
“Oh, Lord,” Violet murmured despairingly. “Why is this so hard?”
Megan Jones. Sunshine. Blue skies. Most people in the church considered these terms one in the same. Megan was one of those girls who lit up the room when she entered. All of the adults in the church loved Megan. Everyone in the youth group loved Megan. In fact, most everyone who knew Megan loved her. Megan was at the top of every young mother’s contact list for a babysitter. “She is so responsible,” they praised.
She was also the first student the youth pastor would call to help organize an outreach. “She really steps up to the plate and leads,” he told Megan’s parents time and time again. Megan was the first person the other teens would call when they wanted advice or someone to listen to their problems. A common phrase among teens in the youth group was, “I don’t know. Ask Megan.” In fact, that was why Megan was so behind schedule this morning. Lissa Lawrence had called late last night, crying. She had recently broken up with her boyfriend, ending a serious physical relationship. She’d needed a listening ear, which Megan had kindly provided.
Megan told herself she didn’t mind-after all, she was serving others. But after each phone call, youth leadership team meeting, or free babysitting job, Megan began to feel more and more dissatisfied. Sometimes she wanted to scream it-although she told herself she was being unreasonable; Life didn’t revolve around her anyway. Sometimes Megan did whisper it, however, when no one was listening: “I have problems, too! I struggle; I’m human! Everyone is so quick to tell me about his own life, but does anyone care about my problems?”
Instantly, Megan would chide herself, “Why does it matter? Life is not about you. You need to be strong for others. Others need you. It doesn’t matter what’s going on in your own life: that your brother may be experimenting with drugs, that he stays out all hours with his friends, that he probably will never set foot in a church in his life.”
Megan remembered her mother’s caution: “What goes on the Jones’ household stays in this household.” So Megan tried to tuck away her hurt and her nightly fear for her brother.
Megan sighed wearily. She’d probably go on like this until she died, helping others who barely knew her and pretending her own life was 100 percent sunshine and blue skies. She felt like her life was a stage production, and it was time for the next act. She mustered one of her smiles, fooling everyone except herself.
Lissa Lawrence was used to turning heads. She had wavy blond hair, immensely blue eyes, long feminine eyelashes, and petite features with just enough curves to draw the eye. To say she was pretty would be an understatement, as most of the high school boys would readily agree. Gorgeous would be a better word.
Lissa had always received lots of attention from boys, which she grew to like-even crave. Lissa had quickly learned that when she dressed in certain ways, she commanded even more of the desired flattery. Of course, her parents disapproved of the spaghetti-strap tops, low-riding jeans, and shirts that hugged her body and showed its gentle curves. But Lissa found ways around their strict rules, and eventually her parents seemed to stop the losing battle.
Her parents also disapproved of some of the boys who contended for Lissa, and this was a harder roadblock to drive around. Lissa began her relationship with Ryan in secret. She would say she was going out with friends (usually Megan-her parents approved of that friendship) and would meet Ryan by the movie theater or the mall.
Lissa soon discovered she was a good actress. She pulled off the double life quite well. On Sunday morning and at home, Lissa was the perfect angel child. On Friday nights and at school, Lissa tried to distance herself from her church life as much as she could. It came in small compromises at first, but it seemed the more she said “yes”, the less power she had to say “no”. A peck on the cheek soon turned to passionate kissing, and quickly their relationship became very physical.
Then came the realization-both wonderful and terrible. There was a little life growing inside of her. When Ryan found out, he broke up with her immediately, and now avoided all contact with her. Lissa had told no one besides Ryan. Last night, she had attempted to spill it all to Megan over the phone. She had told about the breakup, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say other the terrifying fact.
Lissa was torn. If her parents found out…but no, they mustn’t know. Of course there were ways…she could get rid of what was growing inside her; it was still early on, and no one would know. But it was a life, a creation of God! How would she feel knowing she had snuffed it out without giving it a chance? But she was getting desperate; she couldn’t keep this a secret indefinitely. It was in this confused, scared state of mind that Lissa entered Grace Church that Sunday.
The church service was drawing to a close as the pastor made his usual invitation while indicating to the area in front of the large wooden cross in the front of the sanctuary: “The cross is open for anyone who needs to spend some extra time in prayer.” Tom usually dismissed this invitation, looking around at all the other people who should be responding instead of himself. Then Tom would leave without a backward glance.
But today Tom had an urgent, desperate feeling. He didn’t want to leave-no he couldn’t leave-and face the world one more day on his own.
“I need thee every hour…” The words to the final hymn drifted to Tom’s ears. He’d sung it hundreds of times before, mindlessly. But today the words on the hymnal page jumped out, took hold of him, and touched him in a new way. And Tom-the well-dressed, respected, moral businessman; the now fearful, needy, jobless man-was the first to kneel before the cross in prayer.
“Lord, I need you. Every hour. Just as much as the alcoholics and the homeless and the non-tithers. Lord, forgive my pride. I can’t go on like this on my own.” Tears poured down Tom’s cheeks as he whispered the prayer. For the first time in a long while, Tom was honest with himself, genuine, and broken.
“I need thee every hour, most gracious Lord…” This had been one of Roy’s favorite hymns, and Violet understood why as she knelt humbly beside the weeping Tom, professing her own need.
“Lord, it is so hard to go on day by day, hour by hour,” she spoke softly, with urgency. “I need you, Lord. Help me in my loneliness.” As she wept by the cross, she was reminded of the One who had first shown his love for her on a very similar cross, even before Roy was created. And she heard a small comforting voice inside her whisper, “You’ll never be alone. I am always with you, even to the end of the age.”
Megan watched the scene at the cross before her, and a thrill ran through her body. “It’s time,” a voice inside seemed to say. “You can get off the stage. No more pretending; no more acting.” Megan’s weary heart leapt at the chance, and she moved quickly, almost involuntarily, to join the group.
No more pretending. The mask was off! She had struggles too, and she didn’t care if others watched curiously.
“Lord, I’m sick of acting like everything is fine when it’s not. I need you. I can’t go on without you!” Had she spoken the words aloud? But it didn’t matter. She had jumped off her stage, ripped off her mask, and vowed to never take up her “career” as an actress again.
Megan felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up. Her youth pastor knelt, silently praying with her. Joy swept through Megan. He cared about her struggles! Oh, why had she waited so long?
Suddenly, Megan was aware of another presence beside her, hugging her and weeping with her. It was a rough-looking boy, with tattooed arms and multiple body piercings. A second rush of joy ran through Megan. Her brother wasn’t out on the streets doing who-knows-what with his friends. He was here in church, inside the very doors Megan had heard him vow he’d never enter. And he had broken down before the cross, weeping.
“Thank you Jesus,” Megan’s heart sang. She felt her face breaking into one of its glowing beams. This time it was genuine, not part of her stage makeup. The two of them, Megan and her brother, knelt before the cross with unmasked faces.
Lissa couldn’t take it any longer. The lies, the years of deception to her parents, and the compromises-big and small-weighed upon her like a rock. Suddenly, she knew she had to come out clean-about everything, including the baby, the life growing inside of her. How could she have thought that making the baby disappear would fix everything and take away the guilt and the shame? There was only one way to get rid of the remorse and regret. Lissa knew what she had to do. Taking a deep breath, she joined the others by the cross.
“Lord, I’m so, so sorry. I need your forgiveness; wash me clean again. Give me strength for the months ahead. It will be hard, but I can’t just throw away your Creation. Forgive me, and help me,” she sobbed. Her parents had joined her now. They knelt beside Lissa, faces concerned and curious.
“I’ll explain later,” Lissa whispered to them. “I’ll tell everything-no matter how difficult.”
Lissa knew the next months would be hard, but the burden of shame and guilt was lifted off her shoulders. She was free as she humbly cried to God. And those watching agreed that in her brokenness, Lissa Lawrence had never looked so beautiful.
They were an unlikely group-so different from one another. There was the well-dressed businessman, the elderly lady, and the three teenagers: one with a glowing smile, one with brand-name fashions, and one with a tattoo and multiple body piercings. But at that moment their differences seemed superficial. They shared a common denominator that day. As each person cast aside his masquerade and knelt humbly before the cross, he was on level ground with the rest. Good deeds, social class, clothing, age-none of these differences mattered. Barriers were torn down. All were needy, and in their brokenness, beautiful.
Posted: June 15th, 2009 under Encouragement, Mark Schultz.
Comments: 1
