I had been looking at it all wrong.
Holding these broken pieces in my hand, I’d let them define the story. I’d let them become who I was. I’d let them label me unworthy, failure, incompetent.
When all along they’d been broken pieces in need of a Redeemer.
I’d whisper a prayer of forgiveness and still, shame would be nearby and I’d feel the fingers pointed towards me. Never getting it right. Always returning.
Until the morning – with Christmas lights nearby, cold coffee in a mug beside me, the previous late night still effecting this blurred mind –
“Why are we afraid of broken things?”
I think of the broken pieces I seem to always hold in my hands. The ways in which I fail, and don’t measure up, and the impossible and often confusing stories that are right in front of me.
I hold the mug of coffee closer and I stare at her words again, and I realize in that moment –
I’d been looking at the broken pieces so long I’d failed to see what they really were.
Because broken pieces are really just an opportunity. An opportunity to see that in our weakness, He is made perfect.
When I’d come to Him in desperate need of His grace, I’d stopped short at describing what I held in my hands. I’d stopped short when describing my brokenness – and failed to ask Him to enter into the brokenness and redeem it. To show up. To make something new. To let me see how He is working all things for His glory.
Broken pieces do not mean broken people. Maybe that’s the Truth I am in need of today.
Broken pieces are in need of Holy Hands to stitch them back into something beautiful. Broken pieces are meant for a Redeemer who was broken in order to make us whole.
And in amidst the cold coffee and the twinkling lights –
I offer Him my broken pieces and ask Him to make them something beautiful.