Chapter Three

The glass silently slips from my hand and tumbles to the floor with the inharmonious cacophony that heralds the assault of a thousand shards of glass… waiting… waiting to pierce and bleed.

With broom in hand I begin to sweep shards into a pile in a vain effort to organize chaos. I find shards of brokenness in places you cannot fathom. They have traveled to points that cause me to ponder on the law of physics and yes, the gravity of the situation. Yet another broken glass, will this one be missed?

How many shards of brokenness remain hidden beneath the surface of my being? Precious multi-colored facets each representing a painful period of life that I am yet unwilling to relinquish. Isn’t pain after all, proof that life continues on?

Have you ever sat in a house of worship and considered stained glass? I admit there are times I find my mind wandering during the service and to focus, I begin to study the stained glass. Those broken shards of glass that reflect the brightest, richest colors are lovingly placed together and become “one” in an art form that often tell a story.

Isn’t that like us in all of our brokenness? God is the artist and uses us in all our brokenness to do His will on earth. All too often I find I prefer to be the artist rather than the brightly colored ruby shard that is placed next to the brilliant emerald shard. They are two very different pieces of brokenness that are complimentary in nature and can work in harmony to fulfill the will of God if allowed to reflect the nature of Christ.

Maybe, just maybe if we learn to recognize the Christ in one another perhaps we will become more susceptible to being healed just by being in one another’s broken, yet holy presence.

Father, Creator of all heaven and earth, heal my blindness that my eyes may be opened to those who also need healing. Heal my heart that it may be pierced with Your love for those who need love. Heal my crippled and maimed hands that they may be opened to embrace those who require Your touch. In Jesus name, Amen.

When tragedy strikes, when trouble comes, when life disappoints we stand at the crossroads between hope and despair, torn and hurting. Local, national and world news all tear at the fiber of our souls and we cry out in unison, “Oh God! How much more brokenness can we take?”

And God recalls the midday darkness and brokenness of a son impaled upon a cross with a crown of thorns thrust upon his brow, blood trickling like tear drops falling from heaven.

Abba, Father, I am broken. Totally, irrevocably broken, like the bread that was broken in today’s communion service. Hearts, like the bread, are often broken.

In my brokenness, may my life flow from this broken vessel like spilled wine. Yes, may my life overflow, spill out and come into contact with those who are desperately thirsting.

Heal me, if it be your will. Or not. But use me, Father, use me to your glory and your good will.


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