“Mommy, he sobbed, it’s broken. My favorite toy is broken!” Toy pieces took turns falling out of his hands as he attempted to bring them to me for repair.
This scene has unfolded many times in my house especially when the children were little.
In some cases I was able to fix what was broken or at least enough to satisfy their broken heart. Other times the break was beyond my ability to repair. Instead of returning it to my child, much to their dismay, all the broken pieces were thrown in the garbage.
Unlike me, however, my husband has rarely met a broken toy (or a broken anything for that matter) that remained in such a condition. After leaving his crafty hands, toy pieces are usually returned to a beaming smile from their rightful owner.
I have at times in my life felt like those broken toy pieces – beyond repair.
I taped. I glued. I stapled. I did whatever I could to make the pieces all fit back together. What I failed to see was that I wasn’t capable of fixing it.
I didn’t do what my children do when their toys are broken – run to the one who can fix them.
As I share in my story, when I laid on the floor of my bedroom at the end of myself, for the first time I took all of those broken pieces and offered them up to my heavenly father. I tried for 32 years to fix it and couldn’t. He accepted them and has been repairing them ever since.
What an exchange!
He was willing to take the time, the effort, and the love to repair me and He still is.
Posted on: March 16, firstname.lastname@example.org