Even When Life Feels Broken...

A few days ago, I posted a picture of my writing and crochet work on social media, along with the words "Even when life feels broken, I can still create."

Life has felt hopeless. Broken. A chaotic mess of broken dreams, desires and best intentions, whirling around in a tornado of confusion. Fragments slicing my flesh as they're blown by. Painful reminders of what life was "supposed" to be. A crumbled mess and a black, empty void are all that's left.

Failure. Frustration. Disappointment. Pain. Exhaustion. Are all that's left.

I feel like a hollow shell with a painted on smile.

There are people I know who would never be able to guess, nor should they have to. My problems have no place in their lives. It wouldn't benefit them or me.

There are people I could talk to. But, there is a fine line between telling them the issues and simply bleeding the pain out. There is a difference. Many, actually.

There is polite, smiling, "Oh, we're hanging in there." to those who know the story, but only want you to know they're thinking about you.

There are the people you vent to. And unless they thrive on negativity, this soon becomes complaining and, "Really, you should be used to this by now."

No one, or rather, very few, want to deal with people who bleed pain all over them. That is messy. Horrible truths and thoughts come out and the person bleeding feels horrible for thinking them, let alone saying them. And then what do you say?

I've done some bleeding pain to my mom in recent days. Today included. Stuck, ashamed, hurting, angry, disappointed, bitterness spilling out all over the place. She is speaking life into me, the situation, and my family. Life into the empty dark void scattered with the fragments of a life that feels broken.

And what does that still, small voice say to me as I sit in the quiet, dimly-lit livingroom, contemplating a billion things at once to the tune of the tick-tock from the clock? The clock that tries to break in and convince me to stop. Go to bed. Tomorrow is a busy day. "You know how you get when you don't get enough sleep," It says, chiming 10 times.

"Shhh," says that still small voice, "I have something simple to say. Don't worry about the clock."

Simple indeed. Yet profound.

"Hush, all you billions of thoughts, this. This one thing is more important than all of you right now."

Immediately, they are silent. And in the wake, tears spring to my eyes.

"Remember that thing you said? That thing about life being broken, but you can still create? Remember how you posted that to Twitter and Instagram, but not Facebook because you didn't want to have to explain it?"

Yes, I remember. I was feeling poetic and sentimental or something.

"Remember in the Bible, how I talk about making things out of clay and the image I gave you for repairing a broken pot?"

Yes, very encouraging. Good stuff.

And then it happens. That simple, yet profound statement.

"I create life out of brokeness."

Waterworks.

Because of all the billions of thoughts that flood into my mind about this profound, yet simple truth. Jesus came to a broken world, then died for it, then rose again and His people were STILL confused and didn't know what was going on.

Because of all those people who messed up over and over and God still stuck with them, never giving up, simply because He knew their purpose, their end result.

Because He's given me a promise about my end result that seems lost in the broken fragments around me.

Because He's given me a promise about the end result of the very person I feel I've failed beyond repair and who looks to be beyond repair at this very moment.

And both end results are GOOD.

There is still an empty void with scattered pieces of brokennessall around me, but there is also a small light too. Seemingly far away, but very bright.

I've just noticed the clock has chimmed again. 10 minutes ago. I didn't even notice.