Invariably, it happens every year. A wagging tail brushes a limb of the tree, or a little hand reaches out in curiosity, or sometimes it’s just a mystery – it just happens. All followed by the familiar sound of crashing glass on the floor crying out, “broken.”
My first inclination is to quickly sweep up the pieces and toss the broken Christmas ornament into the trash. But this time while carefully picking up the broken fragments, those jagged, sharp pieces, I am reminded how Jesus meets me in my brokenness. And unlike how the world views brokenness, my Savior doesn’t quickly sweep me away and nonchalantly toss me into the trash heap. He meets me there, in the middle of the mess of my brokenness. When I come to the end of myself, He meets me there in the brokenness.
Through adversity, in the disappointments, in the failures – I see my weakness, my need to depend on Him. And when I come to the end of myself, I do not see these as shortcomings, but am reminded that God works best through me when I am broken.
So in this season of celebrating the birth of Jesus, I stop to reflect on the cradle, the cross, and the crown.
I’m not in a hurry to sweep away my brokenness because I know it is there He meets me.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.