When all I have is broken.

In the busy constant it can overwhelm. I can catch myself not breathing. I almost have to slow down and remember that practice that has been common to my being since life was breathed into me over 28 years ago.

It’s like we spend our days trying to collect the pieces to make something. Like putting broken shells together on the beach or trying to glue something together that’s shattered. These are the priceless pieces of our life. The things we think we can’t live without. It takes something bigger to shatter our own lives into a million pieces to realize that something isn’t much of anything…and the somethings that are priceless we’ve itemized off as a less than priority.

When these human vessels start not quite working right, it’s like the pieces are slipping from what we thought was perfect. “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.” That beat beating heart. Those in and out breathing lungs. The parts that were woven to all work together. What then, when they aren’t?

What is holding these broken pieces then when the fearless wonder to starts fading and falling out of synch?

Maybe the question then isn’t why or how…maybe it’s how do I praise from here? What do I do to praise in this broken?

My heart was deceived. It was never in the glue. It was in the breaking. The broken. The parts that feel like they’ve spilled my insides out on the floor and made a horrible mess. That’s where the healing starts. That’s the only place it can start.”I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

When we are spilled out and broken, that’s where He can fill. When I’m not so busy filling myself but when I’m so broken I let Him fill me up. “Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.”

Back to the basics of my being. This part we don’t like to see. This is where I want so badly to pick it back up again, but like peeling off a part of myself, I lay it down for Him to sort through. For Him to fix. “My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.”

What happens in this space isn’t just painful. It’s soul saving. I have to remind myself in the pain, He is saving me. I have to remember I can’t live without this. “Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

These moments become grace. There is strength here because I cannot do it on my own. But I can do all things when I give this vessel back to the Potter to fix and mold to where it should be. He knows where it all goes and what I can stand. Maybe I should trust Him?

“How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!” How is it possible that in broken, there is life? And not just any life. Life that’s more abundant than before?I’ve stuttered over this process many times and missed it here because I thought I couldn’t bear giving it up to Him. Like I knew my body and soul limitation better than the one who made them. Child birthing proved me wrong. Twice.

As the third comes growing in my very being, You make it so clear in her swelling of growth. In her very movement: This woven and birthing experience is never over. All is grace as You weave and re-form me. My very presence in my mother’s womb just a foreshadowing of your weaving of my being inside the covering of Your grace for my numbered days. My very numbered, un-known, and seemingly imperfect days were gifted to be molded. “If I would count them, they are more than the sand.”

I am daily an amateur Jesus follower. Like a child sorting through the treasures of a parent’s closet… I try on the shoes I can’t fit in, and dressing up in clothes that sweep the floor more than they fit my form. But here there is grace. I dress up believing that one day the clothes, the shoes, will fit. Because in His presence all is made perfect and all is insurmountable joy. Some pieces are missed. Sometimes I don’t even want to dress up in that gifted day. Oh, but the breath in these aging lungs. The beat, beating of this sometimes doesn’t-quite-beat-right heart and He reminds me “I awake, and I am still with you.”

 

Psalm 139:13-18

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