By: Darrelyn L. Tutt

Yesterday, an African-American woman cozied herself up on our gray leather couch and I sat riveted to the story of a beautiful "stranger turned friend" in my living room.
Pummeled by enough life experiences to institutionalize even the heartiest, I sat in wonderment as I listened to her story.
So brokenly redeemed.
So beautifully restored.
So valuable and precious.
So truthful, real, and vulnerable.
Together we "broke bread" in our conversation of Christ and we knew one another as friends.
And I loved her.
In getting into the adventurous habit of extending an invitation to the stranger, I'm finding myself host to an entirely new neighborhood and in sync with the movement of the Father:
-I had no idea how easy it would be to find entrance into the stranger's life.
-I had no idea that an invitation into our home would be deemed so desirable and grabbed hold of with such immediacy.
-I had no idea how hungry the hearts in the world were for love and acceptance until mine became hungry and broken like theirs.
In hindsight I see such value in brokenness:
I see that in the bruising, busted, battered condition of sin and, in the conditioning and confession of it, we are brought home and made to see with the eyes of the Father.
We are given ears to hear with the ears of the Father.
We are given hearts to feel with the heart of the Father.
We are given souls that beat with the eternal love of the Father and, somehow in the brokenness, we are made different.
Knowledge and information are translated into compassion and transformation; a process only born and realized through the Father.
It is surely one of life's greatest miracles ...
this inside work and journey called transformation.

I believe it to be stronger than a limb reappearing or a physical healing witnessed.
Where the stranger meets the stranger,
and together, we are welcomed home.
This place of breaking bread,
together as one,
made whole ...
by the Father.