Broken

broken

Waiting. 

I felt as though I were a glass of water tipping over the ledge of a countertop waiting for a tiny gust of wind to knock me down. It’s funny how life can push you to the edge and it really doesn’t take much to eventually knock you over and break you. It’s in those moments you realize how fragile and vulnerable you are. For me, the hardest reality was just peering over the edge waiting for a fall, knowing that within moments the countertop would no longer be a blanket of security beneath me. My moments of deepest fear and crippling anxiety are always in the waiting. As I waited, I wondered. How did I even get to the tipping point in the first place?

Then it happened. A tiny gust of wind whisked past me and off the ledge I went- falling. Falling fast and landing hard. I hit the ground and broke into tiny pieces. And to think, it really didn’t take much to get me to that point, it was just a tiny gust of wind after all.

At peace, though in pieces.

It was hard work trying to keep myself from falling.  But when it happened, when I fell over the edge, a huge surge of relief overcame me. I wasn’t trying to hold on with my own strength anymore. It felt so good to no longer be at the tipping point waiting for my abatement. My overwhelming fear was replaced with overwhelming freedom. 

I felt strong yet tender hands pick up each broken part of me. All my sharp edges were gently caressed between soft fingertips. The hands bled as they gathered every part of me and yet they continued to work until each fragment of glass was softened. It wasn’t long before I realized that I was safely resting in the palms of a master craftsman. I wondered, are these hands going to restore me and put me back together as the glass I was before?

Each fragment of softened glass was carefully painted then glued together with the blood of the very hands stainedglasscrosssunthat picked them up and caressed them. My broken pieces were assembled, but not as they were.

A new creation.

Assembling together my shattered pieces was not easy for the master-craftsman. I pierced his hands and created deep wounds in his palms till blood poured out like water from a fountain. Yet he was relentless. Despite the pain I caused him he continued to work and refused to discard even the tinniest of pieces. The intense yet merciful look on his faced displayed his meticulous, creative and incredibly loving heart. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

Thanks to my master craftsman I no longer take the shape of my former self. I am no longer a glass of water tipping over a ledge, I am no longer broken pieces of glass lying lifeless on the floor. In my reassembling I have been given a new identity:  I am now a display of art, a mosaic, through which the radiant glory of the Sun shines through.

Break me again Lord, make me new, until every fragment of glass let’s Your glory shine through.

 

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