Sarchi, Land of Broken People

Sarchi, Costa Rica, will forever be ingrained in my brain as the "Land of Broken People."

In the one afternoon we spent their, we saw more physically disabled people than I have seen in my entire life. He's wearing an eye patch, she's missing a leg, and that is not what a bandaged arm is supposed to look like.

I really wish I could say I did something noble like praying over the ailing or dispensing Advil or something.

I didn't.

I gawked and laughed at jokes about what must be in the water. It ashames me now. But to this day, anytime I see people with physical handicaps or disabilities, I remember Sarchi, land of broken people.

Could we not all be considered to be from Sarchi? Are we not all broken people?

Wounded physically, maybe but more likely wounded emotionally. Broken hearted.

Ironically, one of the two friends who visited Sarchi with me, the one who made the joke about the water, is responsible for breaking my heart. Intentionally or unintentionally doesn't matter. It happened.

Broken people.

I am growing to love broken people. It's in their vulnerability, when they share their brokenness, that God's glory shines most brightly. We can't all be perfect people. Let me rephrase that, none of us are perfect people.

Just admit it: you are broken. It's hard to say, but I am broken. I don't have it all together. I don't spend time with the Lord like I should. I snap when I should be courteous. I miss blog days when I have committed to blogging every other day. I try to exalt myself sometimes even at the expense of someone else. I even, gasp, cry.

I hate being broken. I want my body to do what I tell it to do. I want my emotions in check all the time. I want my heart guarded and unbroken. But trying to heal myself only turns into a more-contorted broken arm. More damage than good.

Yet I choose to sit at the feet of the Great Physician and let Him, in His time, bind up my wounds, replace my broken heart, and mend my soul. It is only then that I begin to heal. Maybe more slowly than I would like; maybe not perfect in the world's sense but perfect in God's sense.

And it gives me a story to tell. A story that boasts my weakness and His greatness.

I understand now, the older song that says, "Brokenness, it's what I long for. Brokenness, it's what I need."

I am broken.
I am Sarchian.

<>< Katie

"Who let the dogs out?"

In my media writing class, we're doing a unit on journalism.  It bores me to tears because I need the freedom to embellish rather than being confined by the truth and bland format.  This is an exception.  <>< Katie

A college student was attacked by three dogs while walking through a campus apartment building.

Katie Ax, 21, was on her way to a meeting around dusk on Sunday night when three small dogs burst out of the apartment unchaperoned and began to viciously bark, jump, and bite.

"It's one of those things you imagine in dreams, but the marks on my legs tell me it was real life," Ax says.

The owner of the dogs, a mother visiting campus for the weekend, claims they are not prone to attacking and are up to date on their shots.  However, Ax still questions why they were on campus in the first place since the only pets permitted are fish.

Ax says when she returned to her apartment an hour later, her roommates and their respective boyfriends were concerned, especially when she showed them the gashes in her leg where the dogs bit through jeans and flesh.

Andy, the resident "medical person" and his girlfriend Elizabeth took Ax to report the situation, Allyson and Jennifer photographed the injury, and Amy sought an unscented bar of soap.

Ax is hopeful of her full recovery and steps are being taken to avoid infection.  A representative for the campus disability center, Laura, said if Ax were to lose her leg she could no longer live in her current apartment since it is not ADA approved; however, her disability would get her priority registration for classes and the ability to request a note-taker.