It's something that doesn't fail to call out gratitude in us: the way that God redeems.

It isn't just what he does; it's the way he is. 

And there is a new film coming out that has this at the heart, this month: BEAUTIFULLY BROKEN, releasing in cinemas on October 24th.

The film makers chose this title for a reason—because the film tells the most unbelievable true story of three families from different sides of the world—the kind of story that has to be seen to be believed (see our blog about it here). And it's a story of God redeeming the unredeemable. 

That's why it's "beautifully broken." It hits home because the fact is, we are all beautifully broken. 

I recently found myself in a forum for speakers of languages other than English, where someone had asked this question:

"As I understand, both verbs 'redeem' and 'rectify' have one same meaning - to correct something, do they? Does it mean that they are interchangeable and you can say 'to redeem/rectify the situation you have to make further tests’?"

It's pretty understandable for someone unfamiliar with some of the nuances of English to assume that these words have the same meaning, but it got me thinking about the huge difference between them. Especially for those of us who have had a revelation of grace.

Google defines RECTIFY as: to put right; correct.

And REDEEM as: compensate for the faults or bad aspects of; do something that compensates for poor past performance or behaviour; atone or make amends for (sin, error, or evil); save (someone) from sin, error, or evil.

Not terribly inspiring, perhaps, and maybe that's because these cold definitions lack the warmth of the personal-ness, the intimacy, and engagement that happens when God redeems. The way he comes close and makes things beautiful.

If we think of this specifically in terms of the work God does with broken situations in our lives, then we're talking about something much mightier, long-reaching, relational and powerful, than a simple fix-it. Because the situation doesn't just get "put right" (and sometimes not at all, or at least in the way we expect or hope). It gets made into something beautiful.

He's really like that. And we can take time to pause and give thanks for it—because he's amazing!

BEAUTIFULLY BROKEN is in cinemas October 24. For cinema locations and times, the trailer and more information, go to www.beautifullybroken.com.au.

Beautifully Broken Official Trailer #2 | In Cinemas October 24

Redeem vs Rectify

Miraculous stories happen every day.  And this is a particularly good one.

It's the story of the wonderful journey of friendship and healing that happened between Andrea Hartley and her Compassion sponsor child, Umuhoza, which is told in the upcoming film, BEAUTIFULLY BROKEN.

Often we think about the wonderful blessing that happens through Compassion towards the sponsored ones—the ones who need it most. But there is the other side of the coin—the blessing that flows to the sponsor. Indeed, it is safe to say that when they first sponsored Umuhoza in Rwanda, the Hartleys had no idea of the beautiful impact it would have on their family.

Randy Hartley, Andrea’s father, says that at the time, his daughter was “a lost soul.” Little did the family know, but she had been physically assaulted in a park when she was twelve, and as a result she had changed completely—acting out and disengaging from those who loved her. "She had totally lost her self-esteem and sense of self-worth.”

The only person she confided the truth to was Umuhoza, in her letters. And the only person she connected with at home was a new friend, Aimee, who was herself a refugee of the Rwandan genocide. Aimee's family were starting a new life in America, and they bonded over the connection to Rwanda. In 2009, the two families decided to travel to Rwanda together, in part to visit Umuhoza, on a trip that marked the beginning of both their paths to healing and forgiveness.

The outcome of meeting Umuhoza was, for Andrea, transformational. 

“By going there and seeing the impact [Andrea] had made…you talk about a purpose-driven life—it did change her life. She came back, started working in school, got a college degree in International Studies, and my daughter actually lives in Nairobi, Kenya now, and has been in mission work there for four years.

“And if you saw the girl that was […] in high school in our household, and the girl today who’s living a purpose-driven life, you wouldn’t think they are the same person.”

Andrea has found her life-work in Africa.

“So that’s why I’m a proud dad who can put some really deep personal things on film,” Randy says. “The film shows the path we all took to be whole again, by leaning on Christ and leaning on each other.”

The film that tells this incredible story of redemption is called BEAUTIFULLY BROKEN, and it powerfully illustrates the incredible work of Compassion: How broken situations can be—and are—redeemed by God, and made beautiful. 

As we know, God does this with exceptional grace and power not only through Compassion Australia—but for and through every one of us. Andrea and Umuhoza are an example of that, too.

BEAUTIFULLY BROKEN is in cinemas on October 24. 

For cinema locations and times, to make a group booking, or for resources to share, go to www.beautifullybroken.com.au.

Three Families. Two Worlds. One Incredible True Story.

We recently had Father's Day, and it's a pretty fun day, according to all the tv ads, with BBQs, toolboxes and camping gear as gifts, and maybe a day out-of-doors in the perfect Spring weather.

Being a dad isn't easy, and sometimes having a dad (or 'not having' a dad) isn't easy either.

We are currently releasing a lovely modernisation of 'Little Women' into cinemas, and little did we know, there is something at the heart of that story (specifically the timeless 1868 novel by Louisa May Alcott) that you wouldn't know for reading it (or watching one of the many adaptations).

In the book, Mr March is wonderful. Somewhat nonexistent after his return from the war, but wonderful all the same. You can tell how wonderful he is by how much his wife and daughters—all the 'little women'—love him.

But Louisa May Alcott's real father was, like all non-fictional dads, far from perfect. He is, in fact, the reason for 'Little Women' being written at all, since it was his inability to support his family which drove Louisa to write—in fact, to write whatever her publisher suggested, even though she thought writing a girls' story was "a stupid idea."

But the family was so endlessly poor that it became Louisa's dream to make her mother be comfortable (though she swore never to marry, herself). The first printing of 'Little Women' sold out in two weeks.

But that didn't mean that her relationship with her father, Bronson Alcott, improved. A member of New England’s Transcendental Club and a friend of its other members—Emerson and Thoreau among them—he was "a man who had thoughts." He considered himself to be a philosopher, but he is mainly remembered as a pioneer of 'progressive education.'

He founded different schools and communities that aligned with his beliefs—no alcohol, no milk, no forced animal labour in the fields they tilled... Cold baths and vegetarianism (and only vegetables that grew upward, never down). Lofty in theory, but in practice, a failure. Students didn't exactly queue at the door for admittance. 

So Bronson more or less gave up trying to make a living when he was still in his forties. He did some intellectual speaking that he was occasionally paid for and he tried, unsuccessfully, to write some of his beliefs down coherently. But that's about all really. And Louisa was bitter about this. Sometimes they had to resort to bread and water for dinner and accept charity from relatives and friends, and Louisa once wrote rather bitingly to her father that her goal in her work was to prove that “though an Alcott I can support myself.” 

And maybe her goal was also to prove something else. Because it's pretty obvious to any casual observer that every single character in 'Little Women' is based on a corresponding person in Louisa's own family. They are almost outrageously copied. The one exception is her father. New Yorker author Joan Acocella writes:

"Father March comes home from the war, stumbles into the back room, and thereafter mostly stays offstage, reading books. Occasionally, he wanders in and says something or other. Then he wanders back out. In one sense, we could say that Louisa erased him—a sort of revenge, perhaps. In another sense, this may just be an erasure of her feelings about him: she didn’t want to talk about it."

Something many of us have done, maybe? Try to prove that we don't need our fathers? Try to pretend that they don't exist? But this didn't work, exactly. Because, as will always happen when we try to pretend that our fathers have no bearing on us, when we deny the reality of their existence rather than do the hard labour of shedding the tears, choosing the forgiveness, or working through the scars, it all comes out in the end.

Because while Louisa more or less wrote her father out of the book, "the ideals to which he held so stubbornly inform every page."

"Bronson’s obsession was with the transcendence of the material world, with seeing through appearances to a moral and spiritual truth. He took this passion to extremes, and that is what made him eccentric, not to speak of irresponsible. But that is also the cast of mind that, with the addition of common sense and humor and an attachment to regular things—life, family, dinner—makes Alcott’s most admirable characters admirable."

It's rather fascinating that in mucking through the trials brought about by the weaknesses and failures of her earthly father, Louisa May Alcott was able to create a story that speaks to its readers just as powerfully and as timelessly as it did when it was first written.

It's a rather hopeful outcome, for all of us, perhaps, that something eternally touching might be the fruit of pressing in to this relationship we might have with our difficult fathers.

And in time it does seem that she was able to forgive him.

"At the age of fifty-five, she went to visit him at the convalescent home where he was then living (at her expense, no doubt). Kneeling at his bedside, she said, “Father, here is your Louy. What are you thinking of as you lie here so happily?” “I am going up,” he said. “Come with me.” She obliged him. Three days after their conversation, Bronson breathed his last. But Louisa never knew of it; she was in a coma, after a stroke, and died two days after him."

No doubt their relationship is much better now: eternally better, in fact—eternally healed.

Little Women is in cinemas from September 5.

Go to www.littlewomenthemovie.com.au for screening locations and times.

All quotes were taken from Joan Acocella's article in The New Yorker, August 27, 2018.

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/08/27/how-little-women-got-big

Mr March

In February I wrote a piece about Jean Vanier which began, "What to do when too many people might come to your funeral?"

At the time we were preparing to release our film about Jean and the organisation he founded, L'Arche, called SUMMER IN THE FOREST. We had spent the day with Eileen Glass, a vivacious lady who is in charge of Fundraising and Development for L’Arche Australia. As part of our time together, Eileen shared with us about Jean's extraordinary life. It was clear from her personal stories about Jean, whom she had known for many years, and from the film itself, that Jean was deeply beloved and cherished within his organisation, if not positively revered. 

In fact, Eileen confided to us that the international leaders of L’Arche had realised that they must prepare well for Jean’s death, because if there was not a very clear strategy in place, then thousands upon thousands of people would come from around the world and converge upon his small home of Trosly-Breuil in France.

At the time I found this fact to be profoundly impacting—the logistical need to stem an outpouring of love because it would be too big. Because Jean Vanier was not a fashionable superstar. He was not a Kardashian. He was not a world leader. He was a gentle, unhurried, quietly spoken man who lived out of sight in a very small place and who had done nothing traditionally news-breaking or globally attention-grabbing. 

All he had done, essentially, was to love people. 

 He did not invent a new kind of life-saving technology. He did not run a billion dollar company. What he did was to live a very quiet life, and love people. But that in itself was enough to impact the world, and history. According to Catholic Outlook he was the "initiator of a genuine revolution of love for disabled people," and the Catholic Herald called his life one of "exceptional fruitfulness." And so his board members had to convene meetings so that they could figure out how to get hundreds of thousands of people not to come and pay their respects to him if he died.

Turns out that the simple act of being present and loving people as they are, is more impacting than any social media campaign, celebrity status, or even radical world-saving political policy could ever be.

And then Jean Vanier did pass away. He went quietly from this world on the 7th May, aged 90. His intimate funeral in Trosly was streamed around the world. There were memorial services in multiple countries. Thousands and thousands of people did pour out their grief, just as expected.

SUMMER IN THE FOREST continues to screen in both Australia and New Zealand, and now people are coming to see it to pay him poignant tribute, or to remember him with intense fondness. They tell us that seeing him on the big screen in vivid detail is to be reminded how vivid, how revolutionary he was in real life.

Jean said, "To love people is to reveal to them that they have value."

It's that simple. And it is that revolutionary. It completely rocks the world.

Forget success, forget fame. There's only one way to truly make waves in this life. Thank you Jean, for showing us how it's done.

SUMMER IN THE FOREST continues to be shown in many cinemas in Australia and New Zealand as part of special Q&A screenings to raise money for L'Arche. 

To find out more, or if you would like to host your own screening, follow the links in this blog or go to

An Ode to Jean Vanier (x2)

I felt a little nervous meeting a "hero in the faith." A bit awed.

You know, like maybe I should make sure to keep a bit of distance so she would have enough room to float-walk above the ground, or maybe I should just never open my mouth in case I reveal how unspiritual I am.

But the truth is, Mrs Gladys Staines is lovely.

I actually got to spend the whole day with her when we did the first pre-screening of the THE LEAST OF THESE: THE GRAHAM STAINES STORY on the Sunshine Coast. And you know what? Being around her didn't make me feel less. She didn't make me feel like I should be better, like I'm getting behind with faith things and that's disappointing—the way we sometimes think God feels about us, right? 

No. Mrs Gladys Staines made me feel normal, somehow. Like I didn't have to pretend, and I didn't have to improve, to be in her company. Like she was really pleased to be around me, just the way I was.

And I had a little revelation about that, and about Jesus. Because he was like that, it seems. People wanted to be near him. They felt comfortable enough to say dumb things and wipe his feet with their hair. He was irresistible, in a sense. He made people feel like it was okay to just be who they were, and be where they were at.

And so it would seem, that "having great faith," actually means you have become more like Jesus. And becoming more like Jesus means your company is irresistible and you are more comfortable to be around. 

It makes you relax, it gives others the peace to enjoy small moments of pleasure and laugh out loud at funny things. It makes people feel like they belong, and they'll always belong, no matter what.

So thank you, Mrs Staines. For teaching me about Jesus, without even trying, and without even saying one word about it. 

THE LEAST OF THESE is still in cinemas. Go to www.theleastofthesemovie.com.au for tickets and cinemas. 

Mrs Gladys Staines

There's something about the Father that never stops being amazing.

When he sees our rotting flesh, he says, "I love you."

When he sees our uncomfortable, dangerous messes, he draws close and says, "I love you."

When he smells the stink of our pride or failure or shame he breathes it in and says, "I love you."

It's one thing to know this in theory, and it's another to see that flesh and smell that stink and be ashamed of that mess and still discover that his heart only wants to draw close, and pour out, and heal and fill and love.

And every so often we get a glimpse of that love, a tiny taste of something that never stops, never fits into any vessel or idea—and it explodes our minds for a second. 

Like this experience did for Shari Rigby.

The Least of These - Shari Rigby | In Cinemas May 16

Doesn't it just make you want to experience it for yourself—again and again and again?

Then, by constantly using your faith, the life of Christ will be released deep inside you, and the resting place of his love will become the very source and root of your life.

Then you will be empowered to discover what every holy one experiences—the great magnitude of the astonishing love of Christ in all its dimensions. How deeply intimate and far-reaching is his love! How enduring and inclusive it is! Endless love beyond measurement that transcends our understanding—this extravagant love pours into you until you are filled to overflowing with the fullness of God!

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Redeem vs Rectify

Three Families. Two Worlds. One Incredible True Story.

Mr March

An Ode to Jean Vanier (x2)

Mrs Gladys Staines

"I Love These Feet"

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