I’ve been asking a lot of why questions this week. I started a post about one thing that’s been on my heart to share with you and half way through it took a direction of question asking that really didn’t have that much relationship to my intended topic of my post. So that post sits in unfinished in my drafts because I don’t know where I’m supposed to go with it.
Maybe I’m not.
Maybe what I needed to say about the topic was said and it’s just not for public consumption now.
Or. Perhaps it isn’t finished and like other posts I’ve written time just needs to pass before it’s what you need to hear or what I even need to hear.
But this week has been about asking questions of why. Particularly why God allowed me to be broken to such a state that I would lose all trust, all faith, that I would shout and whisper four letter words at Him. Why would He let me go to that state if He knew I would at moments want nothing to do with Him.
I’ve been asking these questions over and over this week and to be honest I really feel no closer to an answer.
But something hit me about my brokenness last night.
I hold it.
I hold my brokenness in my hands.
The shards of glass. The splintered wood. The shattered china. All of it I’m holding as I stand here, and what I came to realize last night is that it’s an offering.
That’s right. An offering.
My brokenness is something I hand over. That I allow to serve as a giving of myself. Something that I’m continuously having to hand over. Because all these pieces that I’ve tried to glue back together….maybe they’re not meant to be together any longer.
Perhaps I’m becoming someone new. And this last year and a half that have been excruciating, have thus far been my birthing. Maybe it’s that just now that I’m finding new life as the rush of air plunges into my lungs.
I may never have all (or any) of the answers. To my last breath I may wonder why God allowed me to hate Him.
And to be perfectly honest, I think that’s okay. I don’t think I need all the answers. I need only to take all my brokenness and say, “here.” To say, “you allowed this. i don’t understand. i don’t get it. it hurt(s) like hell, but i believe this is where new life is beginning.”
So I’ll stand here. I’ll walk this road. I’ll hold this brokenness and lift it up as the offering that it is.
