On November 17, 1988, in Lexington, North Carolina, I was born with a rare craniofacial disorder called Goldenhar syndrome. Put bluntly, the left side of my face and parts of my body were badly broken.
Nurses would return every few minutes with a new discovery of something broken within me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Joyce, his left ear is severely underdeveloped.”
“His left jaw doesn’t seem to be formed, and his left cheekbone is missing.”
“He has two holes in his heart. Scoliosis of the spine. Skin tags.”
It went on. By the fourth or fifth appearance, the nurses couldn’t even hide their tears as they prepared to impart more bad news. Dad retired to the hospital chapel while Mom slept. He never did tell me exactly what he said in that chapel—only that he and God had it out and that he prayed harder than he’d ever prayed before.
My childhood was full of doctor visits and hospital stays. I’ve lost count of the number of surgeries I’ve endured. And though my parents knew God gave them this child with a different face for a reason, they still couldn’t help but continue the prayer my dad began the day I was born. It was a wonderfully childlike prayer only parents truly know because it was straight from the soul. The words shifted and stumbled and failed. But the ask was pure and powerful and always the same.
Lord, would you make our son whole?
Can you relate? True, my physical abnormalities placed me in a category to which few belong. But isn’t wholeness what we all long for?
Understanding Our Longing for Wholeness
And don’t we all feel that there’s a brokenness in our lives, a woundedness in our souls, that isn’t quite whole?
We all suffer from this sense that there’s something wrong. That we’re incomplete. That we can’t get it right. That we aren’t quite enough. For God. For others. For ourselves.
The Wounds We Carry and How They Shape Us
The cause of your wounds, like mine, may be something physical you’ve carried since you were born. It may have come from a less than ideal home life or family. Maybe a season of abuse. A parent who abandoned you, a husband who rejected you, a wife who betrayed you, a church that lied to you, a teacher or coach who belittled you, a friend who turned on you and, yes, even a God who, at least in your eyes, wasn’t there for you in your darkest hour.
Whatever wound was inflicted upon your soul, you find yourself feeling painfully less than whole. What’s worse: these wounds calcify into beliefs and attitudes that form habits and lifestyles that only make the pain worse.
Finding Wholeness in Christ Amid Brokenness
The unique pain you carry may lead you to inflict painful wounds onto others too, even if unintentionally. That rejection may lead you to reject yourself and others. That abuse may lead you to abuse yourself and others. That gruesome word spoken over you has spun a web of lies so thick in your mind and heart you can’t even begin to cut through it to see the sun shining on anyone’s face, much less your own. It perpetuates itself. It grows deeper, darker, lonelier, and wider, making you feel like there’s no way out.
Lord, would you make me whole? That’s your prayer. That’s mine. Though degrees may vary, that’s all of us. But as a pastor and, more importantly, a follower of Jesus, I’ve learned that Jesus came to the earth for one reason: our wholeness.
Jesus’ Purpose: Healing and Wholeness
God is not scared away by our wounded souls. In fact, he’s acquainted with them even more intimately than we dare fathom. And the wholeness and freedom we’re so desperate for are right in front of us if we have the courage to look.
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Taken from His Face Like Mine by Russell Joyce. ©2024 by Russell Joyce. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press. www.ivpress.com.
