Fumbling, my clumsy soapy hands drop the glass. Noisily it announces to the world my failing and its demise, before coming to rest in a hundred small sharp pieces on my kitchen floor. I can do nothing but gather broom and dustpan and pray I find all the slivers before little feet do.
This breaking– this work of a moment’s carelessness– it cannot be fixed. This casualty of my error is doomed for the trash, destroyed.
But not all breaking destroys.
Not all breaking is the work of careless hands.
How often have I prayed, Lord, break me? How often have I seen the brittle shards of my hardened heart and prayed that God would take them, break them, and then heal them to be used for Him?
He does not just drop His beloved on the floor, then sweep us up and toss us away, useless.
His breaking is the touch of love, taking what is useless already, shattering it, and then using it to make a masterpiece.
But it is still breaking. And the breaking leaves me crushed, bruised, and shocked.
You said You loved me, my broken heart cries out, forgetting that I have cried out to be broken. In this moment– when I look around me and see the shattered remnants of my foolishness, my pride, the strengths I thought would please Him– in this moment I grieve this breaking process.
I grieve the loss of what I thought I had.
And as I grieve, He comforts, for He knows what it is to be broken for love. He knows what it is to give all, to lose all. And He knows better than I what beauty can come from the broken.
So I submit to the breaking, though every ounce of my flesh screams in anguish, and I trust the One broken for me to create something beautiful. The process of recreation begins anew (for I have been broken before, why do I not continually submit to His shaping hands?), and I see that the making will be slow and long. I begin to understand that though the breaking took only a moment, the making will require daily work, daily submission, daily acceptance of His plan.
And I understand that the beautiful something He desires to create will still bear the scars of the breaking.
In the scars of His breaking, in His hands and feet, we are reminded of the ugly and painful that led to the beautiful reality of our salvation. He willingly took that breaking, not because His heart was brittle and useless in the hands of the Father, but because mine was. And now, having taken what was broken to create something beautiful for me, He reaches out His scarred hands and draws me to Himself in love.
He knows how painful the breaking is.
He knows how ugly and terrifying and confusing the breaking is.
He endured it for me, and extends grace that I may endure it for Him.
I do not know what beautiful thing He will create with my life. In the midst of the pain of the breaking, I must simply trust His broken hand.
He has made all things beautiful in His time.