Why We All Need to Be Broken Now and Then
She didn’t cry when she fell off her ripstick onto the hot cement. Didn’t wail when we hurried to hospital to let her daddy survey the damage.
She didn’t weep when we sat somber in the x-ray room and waited to learn what had happened to those bones beneath her bruised and bloody skin.
But when she finally curled up in our big leather chair with her tattered copy of The Lightning Thief and her green-casted arm propped high on a pillow, the tears began to flow.
As the reality of her indisposition settled in, the pain of her new unsolicited can’t-do -list far outweighed the pain of her broken bone. No swimming. No biking. No beaching. No tree climbing. No monkey bar swinging. No wrestling with her brothers…
We could straighten her broken wrist, but re-aligning her dreams for the steamy summer months would be more difficult.
My heart ached just watching her. Those drops drizzling steady down her flushed cheeks were the silent screams of a dream deferred.
I was about to wrap my arms around my disappointed daughter when her little brother made his move. Carefully, so as not to break anything more, he crawled on his big sister’s lap and snuggled his head on her trembling shoulder.
Green eyes pooling with concern, he tenderly stroked her bulky cast and tried his five-year-old best- to cheer her up.
“Maybe you’ll like your new wrist even better after God puts all the broken pieces back together…”
My brave girl smiled through her tears and rested her chin on the head of her favorite brown-haired-boy. “Maybe, I will,” she surmised. “Maybe I will.”
I had to turn away to hide my own tears.
I slipped to the kitchen and buried my aches beneath the piles of dirty dishes.
As I scrubbed dried ketchup off those green plastic plates, I nursed the pain in my own heart and remembered all the times I’ve been broken myself.
I’ve never experienced shattered bones or mangled wrists- just shattered pride and mangled dreams. Splintered hopes and fractured plans.
I’ve hobbled maimed and miserable as pieces of the me I was never meant to be have fallen to the ground crushed and broken, leaving a wounded woman to heal in the wraps of the Almighty God.
Joshua was still chattering in the next room, dreaming up new summer plans with his injured sister. He was explaining the advantages of one-armed whiffle ball and speculating whether that cool green cast could double as a weapon when they played capture the flag and backyard tag.
I wiped my quiet tears and thanked God for loving us enough to let us fall now and then. Fall broken and weak right into His loving arms.
Because come to think of it, my littlest boy is right. I like the pieced-back-together-by Holy-hands woman I am now far better than who I was before all that brokenness.
Maybe, in time, my green-casted girl will discover the same thing.
I wiped my last dish and let the grungy water swirl down the drain. I scrubbed old macaroni shells off of the bottom of the sink and smiled at the silver sparkle that shined where that grime had just been.
Then I grabbed my camera off the kitchen counter and headed back into the living room to take a picture of my daughter’s new summer look.
The look of a girl being made new.
The Overflow: The Spirit of God, the Master, is on me because God anointed me.
He sent me to preach good news to the poor, heal the heartbroken, announce freedom to all captives, pardon all prisoners.
God sent me to announce the year of his grace—
a celebration of God’s destruction of our enemies—and to comfort all who mourn,
To care for the needs of all who mourn in Zion,
give them bouquets of roses instead of ashes,
Messages of joy instead of news of doom,
a praising heart instead of a languid spirit. -Isaiah 61:1-4, The Message
Counting all things as grace today…
1122. A new trampoline arriving on the Fed Ex truck to replace our broken one.
1123. Bringing the Word to life for 125 kindergarteners at vacation Bible school
1124. A late night car date with my husband- driving to the ice cream shop and back.. candid conversation in the dark.
1125. Making homemade puffy paint with Mags
1126. A tiny bird’s nest in our littlest evergreen tree.. 3 speckled eggs harboring hope of new life
1127. Joining up with an old friend to tell the tale of the Bubble Gum Bully at Bible school- who knew in third grade we’d still be doing drama together as we near 40 years old?!
1128. Hannah squatting in ready position at homeplate, pink softball bat in hand
1129. S’mores around the bonfire with siblings who are also our friends
1130.Uncle Jim patiently stringing and baiting and fixing fishing lines for ALL 7 KIDS as we cast hope in the lake over and over again.
1131. God carrying my man through a difficult week.
1132. The gift of Sabbath… donuts on the deck and Bible study in the hammock.
1133. A big yellow doll house sitting in the grass.. the girls’ summer project- the joy of making an old thing new.
1134. My husband heading off to work AGAIN while I sit with Bible in hand starting my day in a quieter way. Amazing provision- amazing love.
1135. The smell of banana bread filling the house.. Hannah’s first attempt at cooking for the family!
Linking again with Ann and these lovely grace seekers: l.l. for on, in, and around mondays, laura for playdates with god, ruth at the better mom, and jen for soli deo gloria