Many years ago, I heard a song by Hallal called “Broken Things.” The song uses ordinary things that must be broken before they can fulfill their purpose and asks God to make us stronger through broken things. These words have been on my mind over the last several days.
In my Christmas decorations, the fragile ornaments live separately from the non-fragile ones. Everything is carefully wrapped each year. One of these ornaments is a large hand-painted ball from our first Christmas in Germany. Well, was. When I went to pick up that ornament, I heard and felt a crunch through the wrapping. This is one of those “cannot be replaced” kinds of ornaments. I was devastated, while at the same time recognizing that the ornament was less important than the memories of our time in Germany.
Over the weekend, when loading my show bags, my son managed to knock everything onto the floor with a splendid crash. When I arrived and started setting up my booth, I learned that two of my mirrors had not survived. I cleaned everything out of the bag and shook out the shards over the trash can.When I arrived home that evening, my daughter’s first words were, “Something bad just happened to your pepper shaker.” The first thing I noticed: everyone was barefoot. Though disappointed that my antique shaker crashed and broke, my first task involved safety and cleaning another mess of broken glass.
Each of these instances provided an opportunity. I could be mad about the loss of objects and the mess, or I could be thankful that no one was hurt and teach humility through service. I could focus more on the stuff and less on the people around me. Even in my disappointment, I focused on gratitude.
It is the same when we face brokenness through significant losses in life: loss of income, loss of a job, loss of a loved one, loss of a dream. How we respond determines how we will heal and rebuild.
The song also contrasts what we demand with what we truly need and our earthly plans with the hope God provides. That thought has stayed with me as I reflect on one year before beginning another. Focus determines direction, even (or especially) in times of brokenness.
