“We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars . . . .”– 2 Corinthians 4:7 (NLT)
Why do I try so hard to be Intact—
to hold together these shards
even as I watch fragments fall through my fingers,
sharp edges stinging my thin skin,
stripping all semblance of wholeness.
I am compelled to be Competent—
steeling my self momentarily Capable to comfort, clean, protect, carry, provide.
To be anything but Unbroken seems non negotiable.
When my flawed hands—feeble for these many tasks—finally flounder,
Fear whispers, insidious:
“surely frailty places you beyond redemption’s reach;
surely being blemished means irretrievable, irreversible, eternal Brokenness.”
Yet those immortal hands who fashioned mine must know:
to be created flesh, bone, and blood is to be made
I am not called to contain the fast-decaying clay,
to muster Courage false,
to claw towards Competent,
to be—or appear—Unbroken.
Crying for His hands to cover mine is to surrender Certain.
It is essential.
It is knowing:
To be broken is not Broken, but the only way to