Thoughtful About . . . Broken Vessels

Sometimes we are broken. Cracked. Chipped. Completely undone.

Sometimes, no matter how much is poured into us, it feels like it all comes leaking back out.

Sometimes life just keeps throwing rocks at us, making those chips and cracks grow.

Maybe there’s been a diagnosis–for you or someone you love. Maybe it’s the loss of a job. A home. A dream. Maybe it’s a tragedy. Or maybe it’s just a million little things all adding up. Maybe you’re running too hard. Reaching too far. Expecting too much. Maybe you’ve fallen back into that habit you’d thought you’d kicked. 

Maybe it’s any of a thousand things that leave you empty at the end of the day. Whatever it is, I think most of us have been there. Broken.

Way back in the day, when I was writing Whispers from the Shadows, my heroine Gwyneth says to the hero Thad, “I’m broken.” And his reply is one I think of time and again. He says, “Oh, sweet. We’re all broken.”

A truth we can’t always see. Because when we’re looking through a cracked lens, we sometimes blame that for the flaws we see in others. (Or sometimes we can only see their cracks and don’t realize it’s our lens.) But it’s a truth nonetheless. We all have those cracks and bruises. The pock-marks and scars. We all have holes and seams and missing pieces.

That’s why I love that our Lord is described as a potter. He knows all about these fragile vessels He’s made. He knows how easily we break. Shatter. Fall to pieces.

And He knows how to fix us. More, He knows how to take the pieces and make something new.

Lord, use us in your mosaic. Fix us where you can, filling our cracks and holes and empty places with you. And as for those times when we feel so utterly shattered that there’s no putting us back together…that’s okay too. We know, Lord, that to you it isn’t a thousand pieces of that old, broken vessel that you see. It’s a thousand pieces of a gorgeous piece of art, just waiting to be made.

We serve an artist, my friends. A God capable of taking the worst tragedy–the ones we can’t actually recover from–and using the fallout to forge something we never could have dreamed. We serve a Potter who can take that same old clay and shape something never seen before. We serve a King who never looks us and says, “You, my son, my daughter, are broken beyond repair.” He looks at us and says, “Will you let me take the pieces? I’ll make something wonderful from them.”

Let’s give Him our pieces. One by one. Maybe we’ll hurt a little as we pick them up and offer them up–some of the edges are pretty sharp. We might bleed. We might cry. But clinging to them will only make those cuts worse. Let’s offer them to Him instead. Our sacrifice. Our praise. Our trust.

Because when we’re at our worst, shattered, that’s when He’s at His best. That’s when He can really get to work…if we step back and let Him.