Broken Pieces

Several years ago I was preparing to leave the house and in my rush my purse connected with an old tea cup and saucer displayed on a ledge.  I cringed as I watched the tea cup and saucer decorated with purple violets crash to the floor, the shattering of china made me gasp.  The damage was done.  Bits and pieces of white shards lay scattered between the larger pieces of cup and saucer.   What had been a set of four cups and saucers’ belonging to my great grandmother was now reduced to three.

How could I have been so clumsy?  I kneeled down to pick up the two pieces that had been a saucer and tried to fit them together like pieces of a puzzle.  I picked up the largest piece of the cup that included the curved handle and felt sadness well up within me that one of the few tangible connections I had of my great grandmother was lost.

My husband came upon the scene as I was sweeping the fragments into the dust pan.  He recognized the remains of the cherished cup and saucer and offered words of comfort at the loss of the irreplaceable. 
 

Later that night I thought about the cups and saucers and my great grandmother.  I was reminded that nothing in this world lasts.  Some day the other three cups and saucers will be passed on to family members and will eventually be broken or passed on to others who don’t know the family history they represent. 

As I laid there contemplating the shattered and broken I talked to God.  My thoughts turned to events in my life that had left me broken and emotionally shattered.  Childhood abuse that had lain buried beneath the surface for years until the light of God’s love made it possible to uncover it and deal with the pain and damage.  In my hands the broken shattered pieces had been impossible to fit back together but in the healing hands of a loving God the pieces of a broken heart and life had been repaired.

He took His time and tenderly guided me through the sharp, cutting memories.  Some of the broken pieces had left wounds that had become infected with unforgiveness and bitterness.  He washed them with His Word and poured out his healing love upon them.  Sometimes the washing in the Word stung…I had to let go of the bitterness and unforgiveness before deep healing could begin; other times the washing in the Word brought peace and joy even in the midst of tears.  He was gentle and compassionate, at the same time He was persistent, even relentless in His desire to see the healing begin.

One of the amazing things about God is that He wants me to come to Him just as I am…bruised, battered, broken, and shattered…but He refused to leave me in that condition.  My brokenness was not a surprise or a challenge for Him.  He delights in taking those very things that had left me wounded and scarred and showing me how He can use them for His glory.  When I look to Him to do His healing work, trusting that He will not allow my pain to be wasted, then my brokenness can become my testimony of His love for me.

Walking in love,