With spring comes opening, cracking of earth. Clods of darkly mottled soil must be upturned to provide bed for seed. Stiff, sodden land must be jostled from its winter sleep in order to provide light and air for new growth. Broken land that brings forth life makes me wonder of all the broken things that give hidden gifts.
Clouds. Hearts, moments of silence, threads, relationships, dreams, plans.
A tiny seed is buried in suffocating earth. It’s through the cracking of hull—armor of protection—that life and purpose emerge. Then, only in death again, does it provide sustenance and a passing on of blessing. Without that death, that giving up of current state, seed’s purpose is not fulfilled. Life is not shared. Oh, to be like a grain of wheat—a seed of life! Jesus was. Is. Will I allow myself to be buried deeply in God’s love and work? Will I cringe and resist the cracking of my heart, my schedule, my plans, in order for Him to spring up life and bear fruit? Or will I embrace the opening of flesh on bough to sprout a branch, a bud of hope, a purpose bigger than me, the seed? I cling to what is neatly ordered, predictable, in a no surprises life. There is such comfort in routine and established order. God would have me be braver.
My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God will not despise. Psalm 51:17
Hungry for change, but too timid to imagine and step out. I pray for courage and am excited about the answer.
Broken Things, by Ken Young
O, Lord, who uses broken things;
Who through broken clouds gives us sweet, sweet rain;
Who gives us bread from broken grain;
O, Lord, make me stronger through broken things