Broken Pieces
You must be more careful, I scold myself through the tears, you almost missed that one. If He’s to put it together again, He will need it all. Bending low, I wrap trembling fingers around the missing sliver and swath it in an old, worn rag then I tuck the tattered bundle beneath my robe. This is for His eyes only, no one else must see. If He does not restore my brokenness, all hope is gone.
On bended knee, I slip inside and gingerly ease toward the light. It’s a busy place. There’s perfect order, perfect calm though couriers hasten careful to do His bidding. I know He will be busy, what if He doesn’t have time for me? I cautiously peek my head around the corner. Oh, how I love Him. What would my life be without Him?
I catch a glimpse, then the crowd closes and I lose sight of Him. Sighing, I quietly turn away. He IS too busy; I should have known. Circles of greats surround Him, movers and shakers consulting Him on important business. They touch lives for eternity every day.
But, I am not them, I’m just me. My face burns with shame. I reach beneath my garment and touch the old, worn rag. I have nothing to offer but my broken pieces. Swiping at the hot tears trickling down my cheeks, I stifle a sob and turn to leave.
That’s when I hear it, His voice caressing my name. I turn, and He is there. All of Heaven senses the urgency of the moment and stills. Leaning intently forward He speaks with quiet authority, “Come to me, My child.”
I take one step and then another. Nearing I feel the weight of His presence. “Don’t be afraid,” He whispers. I bow in humble submission, “Hosanna, Hosanna my Lord! Blessing and glory, wisdom and thanksgiving, honor and power and might be unto You, my God, for ever and ever.”
He softly speaks my name once more. I lift my eyes to His and read His love for me, holy and pure. He opens His arms and I run into His embrace. He folds me close, so close that I hear the beating of His heart, it's beating for me. “I have called your name, you are mine.” He knows me, and He loves me still.
I weep deep sobs of sorrow and surrender. Not once does He does scold or hurry me. He does not blow out my flickering flame. He simply understands. I could stay there forever safe in His embrace. He is my refuge, and His everlasting arms my support.
My weeping spent, He holds my face in His hands and gently wipes my tears with His thumb. “Why do you weep?” He knows I know He knows, but He bids me tell Him still. I need to speak my pain.
Then He inclines His ear toward me.
“My heart is broken, Father.”
I reach beneath my robe and give Him the worn-out rag. He takes it from me with tender care. "What have we here?" Slowly He folds back the corners exposing the contents hidden there. I know that I can trust Him, still I tremble at the thought, what will He do now? Will it hurt for Him to heal? He can do anything, but for a moment I doubt, maybe this one He can’t fix.
I feel vulnerable in His presence, unworthy of His care. I stutter an apology, "Perhaps I should not have bothered you with something so small."
“Small? Why if it matters to you, it matters to Me.”
I hold my breath, waiting for His words. “You trusted me with your pain. You could have carried this alone, but you brought it to Me. You’ve given Me your heart. What would you have Me do?”
“Lord.” I whisper, “I want to be whole.”
So, He lovingly wraps His fingers around the broken pieces of my heart, and tenderly fits them together. “Here,” He says, “Good as new. Better actually - for once your heart has been broken it’s much better than before. Now it beats with compassion for those who hurt. It beats with confidence because it’s known My touch. It beats with courage because it knows it never walks alone. It beats with assurance knowing that even if it shatters, I can fix it again.” Then He puts it back in place.
I whisper my thanks and rise from my knees. He rejoices over me with singing. He’s quieted me with His love. I’ve been with the Father and I'll never be the same again.
