In the book Sacred Thirst, the author writes, “The bride and groom are standing in front of everyone, looking better than they are ever going to look again, getting so much attention and affirmation. Everybody even stands when they walk in so it’s easy to think this marriage, at least, is about them. It’s not. Just look at the worn-out parents sitting in the first pew—they understand this. The only reason these parents are still married is because long ago they learned how to handle the hurt they caused each other. They know that the last thing you ever want to do with hurt is to let it define you.” This last statement offers one of the most profound points that I’ve read on brokenness. Those who do not allow hurt to entrap them can turn brokenness into an unbreakable force, but those shackled by past pain are truly imprisoned by it—the walls we build to protect us may eventually imprison us.

Approximately 23 years ago, as a prodigal, I conceded to my girlfriends request to abort our child around the 5th week of conception. The pain of that decision still haunts me today. What would they look like? Was it a boy or a girl? I can picture walking and talking with my child...watching his or her first steps...holding them when they cry and rejoicing with them when they succeed. But these are just dreams in my mind; dreams that often leave me heartbroken. Regret is one of the hardest pains to deal with because it is a constant reminder that we failed...failed God, others, and the aborted child.

The title is something I don’t like talking about very often. If you come here regularly, you know I don’t talk about it often. It’s probably one of my least favorite subjects, but it’s very important. It’s very important in the life of the believer,...