I’ve been thinking about what it means to be broken. My mind quickly floods with the usual dark, heavy thoughts; painful places from my own history, my failures and loneliness. But in my struggle to find a description that truly encompasses the fullness of the word, I began to nudge my Daddy, “Speak to me… please!” He is so good to me. I have to laugh because He knows how I get so easily stuck in the muck, the mud, the really depressing stuff. But He has faithfully shown me for weeks now, as I have been mulling over this question.
Consistently He’s reminded me of when I personally walked through the ancient streets of Pompeii, Rome, or Pozzuoli when I was a missionary doing prayer walks or leading other ministry groups, passing through the area we lived in. Just the thousands of years alone which brought destruction or broken vessels to the once lovely works of art! The sheer number of ancient ruins literally in millions of pieces beneath my feet had been intentionally saved by someone who believed that all these broken things still had some sort of worth. Many times items are repaired in an attempt to be like the original design, like the Mona Lisa. Other items are actually reconstructed into something entirely new and they are stunning works of art!
One ancient site where I was walking, I kept coming across some broken, marbled pieces that seemed to be sporadically placed within the ancient, stone path. I questioned one of the tour guides about it and they informed me that this was a typical custom which was done in order to be a guiding light in the night. This was an ancient holy site for pagan gods. These were paths leading up to the actual sites and the full moon would reflect off of the marble and light the way.
Whether a previous work of art that got broken and reconstructed into a one-of-a-kind masterpiece, or a seemingly useless, broken piece of something that can reflect light for someone who is lost, who will I be?
. . . . because the broken are still beautiful!