Last week I was talking with one of the kids about church. He, like so many, has issues with the Church because he sees so many Christians as hypocrites. Sigh.

We had some good discussion about how we’re all flawed and what that looks like for people of faith. Ultimately, we came to the shared conclusion that what distinguishes a hypocrite from a person who genuinely wants to be holy but struggles is humility. The hypocrite never admits he is wrong. He’s holier than you because he doesn’t admit his struggles. On the rare occasion that he does, it’s never his fault. There’s always an excuse and rarely an admission of guilt or an apology.

On the other hand, we both agreed that we respect and even admire Christians who appear to be genuinely pursuing holiness but also readily admit when they fall short. They don’t shout their faults on social media but they also don’t scream about their own perfection there.

In a word, the difference is humility.

Humble saints who stumble, admit it, ask forgiveness, and keep trying to be more like Jesus are the ones who inspire us to do the same.

In recent years, my life has been very publicly messy. My husband died. Our house caught on fire (twice!). My son caught on fire, too. Our whole town knew those things.

But there are other things we’ve dealt with more quietly. Health issues. Heart issues. Work. School. Family. Guilt. Fatigue.

I recently discovered Anne Wilson’s music and her song Sinner’s Prayer has a line that gets me every time. She asks, “Can broken still be holy?” and tears come every time. Because, friends, through all of this, that which I’ve shared and that which I’ve held close, I have repeatedly felt so broken. My life has shattered more than once and putting the pieces together is exhausting.

I so desperately want to be holy. I want to face the giant with confidence knowing that my God is big enough to be victorious. Some days I do. I tell myself and my kids that God’s got us and I believe it with everything I am.

Others days, though, the giant brings his friends and I stand in front of them with shaking knees and a weak heart. I don’t see the end. All I see is how small we are. How broken. How much we hurt. And on those days, I feel like a fraud; a hypocrite who says one thing and lives another.

I know it’s a lie. I know the enemy isn’t flesh and blood but man, I sure seem to find enmity with humans. Sometimes with the humans I love the most.

Can broken still be holy?

God, I hope so. Right now I don’t seem to have a lot of choice about the broken but I am trying for the holy. Some days are better than others.

How is it humility to write so publicly about trying to be humble? I don’t know. Maybe it’s the opposite.

I know this though. As I have shared my heart over the past few years, I have had countless people tell me that although they aren’t in my exact circumstances, they can relate to what I’m saying here. So as I struggle to walk the line between broken and holy, I’m going to strive to be authentic with you.

Not so you can give me accolades or pat me on the back, but hopefully, so that when you find yourself here in this hardest of places, you can know that you’re not alone. That you can be assured that God is bigger than the giants, even when all you seem to have is one little bitty slingshot and a handful of stones. The one who gave you that slingshot also taught you how to sling it and hit that giant square between the eyes.

In sharing with you, maybe I’m not even talking to you, but reminding myself instead. Yes, Anne. Yes, Kelsy.. Broken can still be holy.