Broken Pieces

Dusk pushes ever so gently at the sun until it dips slightly below the curved edge of the land.  A small sweaty being of the male persuasion is coaxed in from the twilight air.  A skateboard is tossed deliberately atop the untidy heap of riding toys and sidewalk chalk.  The helmet and pads are left in Hansel and Gretel fashion as a trail to find said skateboard on the morrow’s adventure.  A tiny girl is perched upon a Ninja Turtle couch, the tilt of her head saying, “I don’t care if it’s a boy couch.  Just dare me not to sit here.”

 

The tiny girl’s present tranquility bursts at the addition of the sweaty male being.  Overtired Mother stands in the midst – a soup stain from today’s lunch on the placket of her faded cotton shirt, her hair long tucked behind the ears, just a smidgen of all-day lipstick is left of the bottom pout of her lip.  Hands on hips, she stands with legs apart in the doorway of the pantry.  

The howling of a girl and cackling of a boy don’t faze her as she collects the trappings of dinner.  Like a circus entertainer she balances each ingredient as she makes her way to the stove. 

 

Once dinner preparations are underway, something catches her attention.  A bright yellow box seems to appear from nowhere, and she takes that as an invitation.  First she handles the box with caution reading the labels and quickly performing tricky arithmetical formulas in her head to arrive at the caloric content for consuming just one of the precious commodity.  

Next, she opens the bounty and peers inside.  Holding the box at a careful angle, she slightly shakes until her eyes widen at the site of the thing for which she searches – a broken one.  Not wishing to consume the aforementioned caloric conclusion, she munches in bliss while tilting and searching for more broken members of the bright yellow box.  Each discovery is better than the one before. 

 

Broken pieces don’t have calories.  Never you mind she packed away fifteen broken delights before scrunching down the wrapper to keep the freshness and closing the box.  She resumed cooking dinner, all the while patting herself on the back for not devouring a single whole treasure. 

 

And in the morning, she didn’t understand why she hadn’t lost any weight.

 

Can you relate to Overtired Mother?  Unfortunately, the miracle of munching and crunching allows the calories of the broken pieces to add together as if eating a whole.  It doesn’t matter how small or how broken the pieces, they still have value. 

 

God performs the same miracle with a shattered individual.  Perhaps you think you have no value because you have been broken into small pieces.  You thought you were too broken to be noticed, not good for anything.  You, my friend, were wrong.  Even small pieces have value.

 

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3 NIV

 

My God can pick up every one of your pieces and make you whole again.  Don’t believe me?  Don’t take my word for it.  Just ask Him.  I’ll be here munching on some broken cookies until you return.