I used to pride myself in my brokenness.
I used to find comfort in the broken.
I often craved it.
I often searched it out.
I twisted beauty.
I saw brokenness as beautiful.
But I was fooled.
Brokenness isn't beautiful for brokenness' sake.
Brokenness isn't beautiful.
A humble and contrite heart are.
A humbled heart, in the midst of brokenness, is beautiful,
Because it undoubtedly means the verge of change.
That point of the cocoon,
before the butterfly.
That humble point of desperation,
of gasps,
of a running out of oneself,
of sitting on the bathroom floor,
in tears,
holding shattered pieces,
that point,
where broken pieces lead you to Jesus.
To shouting.
To calling.
To yearning for more.
There you are on the verge of change.
I used to be obsessed with that point.
That point of being broken on a bathroom floor.
I thought I'd find more of God there.
And I did.
But in my obsession with brokenness and hours of sobbing in the shower,
I missed this fundamental truth;
He desires me to be whole.
Fully, abundantly living and whole.
Healed.
Tears wiped away.
Whole.
It's in that desire that He constantly,
over and over again,
in this life,
and by Jesus' death,
by His great love,
takes ashes,
and turns them to beauty.
He takes ashes and turns them to beauty.
He picks up all those broken pieces of chaos,
writes a story,
heals,
and turns them into something spectacularly beautiful.
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