Do you know what it is to be broken with someone?
Broken for someone?
Hands, white-knuckled on whatever you are holding: the pen, the steering wheel, the shopping cart, the telephone.
Arms, aching to take everything bad away. Aching to lift every burden and make everything okay.
Voice, lost somewhere between now and the moment when you realized that there were not words to fix this.
Eyes, filled with the tears you are not crying because you cannot, cannot, cannot just let it go.
Heart, straining and stretching outward in your chest in an effort to be there and hold it all, even if you can only hold it for a little while.
Prayers, bound up with words like “healing”, with sentences that cry out “Abba, Father, show us where to go and what to do and help us turn to You.”
Fingers, fumbling for something that will point the way, sorting through pens and paper and guitar strings and Bibles and chapters of books in an epic search for answers to the unanswerable.
It’s a heavy thing to hold, brokeness.
It’s an awful mixture of tears and assurances and question marks to swallow.
It’s not a pretty picture to paint. And I doubt I will be hanging it in the hallway when we’re finished.
But I have to believe that this brokeness is bettering us. I have to believe that it is teaching us to hold up the heavy things of life and that one day we’ll be thankful for the muscles that it gave us. I have to believe it’s training us to drink in every moment of this existence, and that one day we’ll be glad to have sampled the full menu. I have to believe that it is showing us that these wringing hands are really painting hands, and that one day, after we’ve learned to paint these shadows, we’ll be so grateful because we’ll know how to paint the light.
-Jessi Sanders 2012