A shattering undone



They shattered to bits. And my heart sank.


After the shock wore off, I stooped down to pick up the pieces scattered far and wide.


I tried to assess the damage with some optimism. Realistically? Mending was not an option.


The heap of rubble was once a matching set of birds. Three to be exact—a momma and her chicks.


I bought them when we first moved into this house. When the home, new to us and memory-free, offered a much needed fresh start.


I guess I wanted to visibly surround us with beautiful things. Something pretty to look at, as a means of distraction from the ugliness prevailing within.


Because don’t you know divorce is a master beauty thief?


It shatters hearts. Shatters lives. Shatters family.


But the Lord stooped down and tenderly picked up the pieces. He entered our mess to help with the clean-up and repair.


He wasn’t repulsed by the sight. He doesn’t turn away from that which is less than. A holy God, majestic in glory and infinite perfection, doesn’t disassociate Himself from the broken. He won’t disown His own. It’s practically scandalous!


Rather, He draws near with merciful compassion and grace to mend brokenness—for nothing less will suffice.


It was a gradual process of undoing.


A shattering undone.


It doesn’t even sound possible though, does it?


No matter the extent of damage or the number of fractured fragments, when yielded to Him, He sets to masterfully mending.


Now, there were times I hindered His progress, adding a few cracks of my own—through fear and worry. But laying down our family before Him, prayer-after-grisly-prayer, and consistently witnessing His faithfulness, built a faith in each of us to smooth many fissures.


The greatest fix? Forgiveness. The Lord’s. And mine.


That’s not to say we’re completely together . . . or without a scar. But I believe in a Day when we’ll be wholly healed. And grace to continue its work until then.


Though we'll never be the same, that doesn’t deny beauty. Because where there is grace, there is undeniable beauty. The beauty doesn’t lie in the result anyway. It lies in God’s act of mending.


It lies in the love of a God, willingly broken, to undo the shattering of us all.




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