5. May 2026
Chosen Fragments
My whole life, I had felt a sense of incompleteness. I lived a childhood of chaos, walked through awkward teenage years that taught me much about pain, abuse, and survival, and I have lived an adulthood in which I struggled to understand “normalcy” through the eyes of people who could never quite decipher the anomaly that stood before them. I always felt strange, out of place, and clearly unwanted. As a matter of fact, I was quite convinced that both God and life had made a mistake in creating me. Life had taught me to survive, but never once how to grow or thrive. Surely, I was here by accident, for no life that had ever been planned could actually feel this empty and despised.
I remember always hearing people say, “God can make you whole.” And sure, I believed in God—I knew of Him, never once doubting His existence—but He was also represented by a broken image of what fatherhood was meant to be, courtesy of the messy earthly father whose madness and chaos I had to survive before being forced to learn how to survive my own. You see, generational curses do, in fact, move in cycles. They turn the messy grind of dysfunction and proudly pass it down from generation to generation like a tainted heirloom, reserved for anyone who bears the mark of someone else’s trauma until it becomes their own. Life had no sense, no reason, no purpose. I could not imagine being forced to live its cruelty until God decided I had suffered enough for sins I was not privy to—sins I had not committed, yet carried as my own.
Everything about my life was chaotic, dirty, and accompanied by hate-filled abuse and contempt, and church was no exception. I spent years filling church pews next to a broken mother who, like myself, was just surviving. A victim of abuse herself, she knew no better and lived in a caged mind and spirit, walking through the same old tunnels life had placed her in, with no awareness that she could change directions. I spent many years in those tunnels with her and also grew accustomed to being defined by my disgrace and accepting the role of being born a victim.
I will never forget the day the map began to change for me. I sat in a crowded restaurant with a church member after a meeting for a planned event. He curiously asked me about my life and why I was the way I was. I explained, in a few words, what was going on and how I had learned to live inside a mind of victimhood. To me, this was the norm—this was what life had handed me, and I had learned to accept and live with it. The look on his face was the first time someone saw me with understanding, devoid of any judgment. Then he spoke to me in a language I never quite believed existed for someone like me. His words were stern, yet simple, and the power behind them began to open a door I never knew was mine. He simply said, “Your mother knows exactly what she needs to do to get out of that life. If she likes it there, then YOU get out.”
To this day, I do not believe he understands the freedom he granted me with those words. It was like a key had turned, and I could see beyond the “original” design of what my life was meant to be. The road to discovering myself in God was brutal—a long walk through pain, fear, anger, resentment, depression, anxiety, suffering, and self-hatred. The list is long and vast, but praise be to God in glory, for He is so much greater than all those things combined.
What I did not understand at the time—and what I found so grievously unfair—was the realization that in order to heal what was so deeply broken within me, I was forced to walk right back into all of the emotions and realities I had long ago learned to avoid. That was a battle of its own, one I did not understand and one I was certain would be the end of me. Why would healing require feeling the same pain? Bringing to mind all the heartbreaking memories that once destroyed me? Why would I need to sit there and recall all the things that had once shattered me and robbed me of every last shred of identity God had proclaimed over me?
It seemed unfair. Those moments shattered me, and now I was being asked to go back through them. “Lord, why?” But I see it now. I understand it now. And though healing painfully peeled back the rotten layers I thought protected me, it was a pressing that could never be avoided. I had to go back into the same mess that deconstructed every part of me in order to identify the dysfunction it had created and redefine it the way God intended. I had to go back and reclaim the pieces that had broken off me and rebuild the picture God first envisioned. I had to go back in and identify the lies so that truth could take over and reclaim the ground.
The journey doesn’t always make sense. Sometimes it is a blurry pathway of unexpected curves. This is why we learn to walk by faith and not by sight. Sight confuses, but in those foggy moments, when the next step is an inevitable act of faith, you come to realize that you don’t always have to have everything figured out. Sometimes, stepping deeper into the fog is the answer to the next step.
Here is the takeaway I want to leave with you as you step into this journey with me: there is no wholeness to be found in this life. Though I understand the heart and intention behind the statement, I believe it can lead people like me to drive themselves mad, always searching for completion. I have learned that we are continually tiny pieces in God’s greater plan. We are fragments, chosen to reflect His love, heart, and mercy. And we are free to move through life collecting new pieces—new stories, new victories, new identities—that better align with who we are in Him, as we shed the lies that have clung to us like life-sucking leeches.
Completion is a lie. Not until the day we are restored to Him will we see true completion. I am much happier now, understanding that I get to keep moving, adding more color and meaning—for myself and for others—through Him, as I use my pain to serve others and bring honor to His name.
The broken pieces are beautiful—sharp, dangerous, and spiky, yet still beautiful. I hope that, like me, you choose to walk the path of hope—a path that in no way requires perfection, a path in which you are free to fall and get back up as many times as needed. Hope with me, wait with me, learn with me, and hold on with me.
I choose to believe my God is good, for I have tasted and seen His goodness. I am okay being a fragment of His love as He completes the bigger picture. It will not be easy, but life beyond the curse is worth the fight—a fight with purpose, hope, and understanding. A life that not only allows me to walk in deeper waters but also encourages me to rest beside His heart.
The fight is hard. I have learned the fight. Now, I am learning to allow His soothing love to guide me through the battles as He paints my victory.
So step into the unknown with me. Step into what doesn’t make sense and trust that His loving hand already holds it all together. Simply rest, enjoy the ride, and run back to Him without a single doubt that you are part of the greater picture. Anything below that truth no longer holds power over you.
Come and be renewed.
Isaiah 43:18 “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. 19 See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.
Jeremiah 29:11: "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."