Picking Up The Pieces

Today was not what it was meant to be.  Though carefully planned and penned and drafted, posted on the clip board hanging near the kitchen table.  Discouragement set in.

I was not who I wanted to be.  My children were not who I wanted them to be.  My husband was not home to help any of us.

My toddler screaming, my son arguing, my daughter defying… me sinking lower.

Our choices reflecting our states of minds, and the reflections echoing off one another like those short melodies you cannot forget once they are sung.

Our home in tatters by bed time, with two in tears and one confined to bed, with the fourth and final player in a heart-to-heart with Dad.  We fell apart today.

And here, in the quiet aftermath, I am left.  Alone in the wake of my choices, heart heavy and eyes still blurring with tears.  Grateful there is One I can pour my heart out to, ugly and messy and riddled with mistakes.  Just grateful to let the tears flow.  Humbled and laid low, desiring His cleansing grace.

We’ve been here before, He and I.  I know His compassion and His kindness breaks my heart for good.  He sees how undeserving I am, and He receives me still.  Whole and full is His acceptance of my pitiful and pathetic offering.

It is He who picks up the pieces.  Gently and evenly putting me back to working self.  The shattered bits of me, laying at His feet, the fear and soul-fatigue, the unforgiveness and the shame.  He picks them up and dusts them off and fits their shapes back on, renewed as courage, refinement, humility and compassion.

Tomorrow we start again.  Fresh with apologies made and forgiveness applied.  Rebuilt, and refined.

 “I will build you up again and you will be rebuilt, O Virgin Israel. Again you will take up your tambourines and go out to dance with the joyful.” ~Jeremiah 31:4

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