Thursday, August 8, 2019

Redeeming What was Broken

A couple of months ago I broke the lid to an antique candy jar I purchased several years ago for my desk at work. I thought of all the things I could do with the lidless jar; then I thought of all the things I could do with the broken lid.

At the end of the day, I didn't have the energy to do any of it, so I threw the lid away and used the jar to anchor my puzzle box lid so it would stand up while I was "puzzling!"

Unredeemed potential.

Fast forward to last weekend. I visited an exhibition displaying various mediums of art and was particularly struck by a blue mosaic plate, similar to the one below. The plate at the exhibition was made of cobalt blue glass pieces, then artfully dotted with groupings of rhinestones and beads repurposed from old jewelry. It was a breathtaking piece.

Redeemed potential. Repurposed. Reworked. In its redeemed state, now more beautiful than the original pieces before they were broken.

What had to happen before the new mosaic emerged, classic and beautiful?

The original tiles had to be broken. And not just broken in one clean line. No, the creator probably used a tool like wheeled tile nippers to deliberately break the tiles into tiny, irregular pieces, nearly impossible to rebuild into its original function and form.

The piece had to be shattered. It had to lose its original identity. It had to yield to the creator's hand before it could be redeemed to emerge a breathtaking, beautiful, one-of-a-kind piece of art.

How like this journey with Parkinson's Disease. I had to give up the familiar, the beautiful, the functional, the independent, the comfortable.

I had to give it up so I could be shattered into unrecognizable pieces that somehow still had to function en masse. I lay in dozens of pieces on the table in front of my Creator, unable to re-form myself; unable to restore function. I lay quiet, in tears, and waited because that's all I could do.

Then my Creator began to spread the glue that would hold the pieces in their new places. He reshaped them and reordered them with that painful wheeled tile nipper. And then He pressed them into the glue. As each little grouping was pressed in, I gained a new function. With this group, I learned to minister to others. This grouping stripped me of bitterness and gave me empathy and grace. This unexpected cluster of beads gave me a voice, a platform, and a message, preparing me for public speaking.

When He's done, He will apply the grout over the top, and the paint along the wooden edges. Then He'll take a sponge dipped in strong vinegar and tenderly wipe each tile clean of all the residue and grout obscuring its beauty. And He'll polish me until I shine.

I don't know where I am in the process, but I know those tile nippers hurt! I also know the Creator has a perfect plan, a diagram, a purpose that will make me beautiful and uniquely fitted to fill a spot only I can fill; to minister in a way only I can minister.

Trust the process. Lie prone before your Creator. Let Him have all the pieces. It's okay to cry when it hurts. He knows all about it, and I promise He will pick you up and polish you clean, and the end will be more beautiful than the beginning.

He will redeem what was broken.

Rest in that hope. Take heart, my friend. You are a beautiful mosaic being redeemed, made whole.


2 comments:

Deborah Owen said...

What a lovely lesson. God breaks all of us in unique ways. My problem was a flash temper that was outright ungodly but the Lord knew how to deal with that. Wouldn't it be nice if God would send a telegram and tell us what is coming if we don't make certain changes right now! Guaranteed - self-changes would only be temporary. God's ways last.

Melissa Henderson said...

Amen. He redeems what is broken.