What a heart knows by heart—is what a heart knows.
And one night in the dark, my heart kept pounding out the memory of the Sermon on the Mount: "Blessed are the peacemakers—for they will be called children of God."
If I didn't live peace—then whose child was I?
I had to get out of bed. Had to change things. I tapped out an email to a person whose words had bled me open that day. My fingers trembled. I sent an invitation to dinner. Not a rebuttal, not an explanation, not a defense. I invited their whole family to come over and sit across the table. Instead of having a break down or breaking fellowship, I asked if we could break bread.
When I saw their responding email, I closed my eyes and I prayed hard and I was shaking scared when I opened their words because you don't know when a fence might be built up or torn down.
I read the words there on my screen:
"I want to send you an apology . . . Something happened inside of me when I saw your name in my inbox.
I had neglected to remind myself—that you are a real person and, not only that, but a sister in Christ.
I can't deny that somewhere in my mind lurks this insider and outsider kind of thinking which somehow encourages me to extend greater courtesy to one group than another."
I put my hand on the screen and laid my head down on the table and I cried.
The Body of Christ has a thousand angry opinions, a thousand fractions and divisions and circles, all these cliques of circles, all these walls. But none of us are not broken.