Sometimes I stumble headlong into something broken, and it gets me down: a broken world, broken Christianity, broken people, broken me. It’s ugly.
When you’ve got something broken, all you can do is make it as right as you can.
At times, I’ve stared at a floor that holds a seemingly endless spray of broken shards. And I’ve learned to start at my feet, and pick up the pieces and start gluing. It may never be perfect, but it can be as whole and as beautiful as my hands can make it.
It feels like a battle, dodging bullets and doggedly picking up pieces, ducking elbow punches to obstinately pass out grace. (I will need that back some day.) My stubborn search through the rubble leaves me gasping and shaking to hold the piece steady as I squeeze the glue. It’s a hard go, and the weariness is palpable, but we’ve become soft, and we are soldiers, dear Christians, in need of practice.
Maybe I’m hanging curtains in a dungeon, but every place needs its Pollyanna.
After all, am I not a child of mercy? Have I not been given much, dragged from something sucking and deep and muddy? Then, I have much to give.
And we (humanity) have much to pick up, and much to do. Join me, and let’s make sure we’re working in the right direction.
11 He has made everything beautiful in its time.
(Ecclesiastes 3:11a, NIV)
Linking up with Emily for the first time today: