Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done. –Bryan Stephenson

I recently finished the book Just Mercy by Bryan Stephenson, a civil rights activist and attorney who started a nonprofit tackling the issues of racial inequality, mass incarceration, juvenile sentencing, and more. What I love about the way Stephenson brings up the issues around justice is that he juxtaposes historical facts and laws with stories. Stories of people who have been wrongly convicted and unjustly sentenced. He delicately shares about their home environments growing up, histories of abuse, levels of poverty, and more.

It made me think about how we all come into this world the same: completely innocent, with no choice but to start breathing when our lungs first encounter oxygen, literally kicking and screaming. We are born inherently valuable with the opportunity to do great things. We all start with a great potential to love and be loved. But then life happens. We might have incompetent parents. Abusive family members. A level of socioeconomic status that automatically disadvantages us from those who aren’t fighting for the most basic level of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: food, water, warmth, and rest. A learning disability or chemical imbalance that prevent us from performing seemingly easy, everyday tasks. The list goes on.

And while we all grow up in varying degrees of brokenness, we can’t deny that some have a much harder road than others, starting with their genetics and their home life – two things none of us have any say over as children. Unfortunately in some cases, our pain leads to trouble in school, addictions, and run in’s with the law. The cycle of brokenness is often perpetuated from generation to generation, especially in lower socioeconomic circumstances where there is a lack of access to safe, undistracted education or a stable home life.

And this is something that seems to divide us – the good and the bad. The have’s and have not’s. The people who skate by and the ones who do harm.

And yet the truth is we are all the same – we are all just varying degrees of fragile.

In fact, it’s our fragility that makes us human. We are all inexplicably and ironically connected not through our perfection, but through our common hurts and bruises. Our fragility reminds us we are just vessels of dust in this life – battered and broken at times, shiny and beautiful at times. If only we saw each other like that. If only we could recognize the wounds of every soul we come across. To see how their hearts bleed just like ours. Their souls ache to return to where they came from – the Creator of all good things – just like ours.

The annoying, inebriated guy in the grocery store behind me might have lost a parent at a young age. That acquaintance on social media posting borderline (or maybe overtly) racist things was taught by someone to fear and hate “the other.” The homeless woman begging on the street corner may have been sexually abused from a very young age.

And though their stories probably look very different from yours or mine, we know deep down that we’re not so unalike. That a different set of life circumstances could have placed us in their shoes. And if we were to compare our scars, they would look very similar – signs of hurt and hopefully also of healing.

[Photo by Kevin Lee on Unsplash]