Shattered

It was probably a Sunday. Typical, quiet.

While fixing my hair in the bathroom, something got bumped. And before I could even think, the little teacup on the counter plummeted for the floor and shattered.

I tried to tell myself it wasn't a big deal as I picked the pieces up. After all, it's just a cup. Sure, it was special: my grandma gave it to me. It's an April mug, kind of like a collector's one. I'd been using it for drinking water and I liked that.

I picked up the pieces, trying hard not to feel utterly broken myself. I couldn't bear to throw it away. So I wrapped the five large pieces in some cloth and stowed it away in a bottom drawer. I didn't know what to do with it just yet, but maybe someday I'd figure out how to put it back together.

-------------

Yesterday was a Sunday. Typical, quiet.

Jessica whirled through her room, organizing and putting things away. I decided now was a good time to go and sort out all the various treasures I owned, as well.

It didn't take me long to make a huge mess of the once-immaculate room. I spent my day fixing pencils, throwing out dead pens, and organizing all my craft supplies. And that's when, in the bottom drawer of my desk, I happened upon some pieces of cloth wrapped around something broken.

On the floor beside me sat a large bottle of Tacky Glue. 

I wanted that cup back together. So I pulled it out and gently unwrapped the pieces. They were sharp; the little shards pulled at my skin when I wasn't careful. The exposed porcelain was rough and uneven. But I soon discovered that all the pieces would go back together, and that the cup would be entire, except for one hole where the impact had been made.

A few hours and some painstaking effort later, I cradled the cup in my hands. I smiled. The cracks still showed, and the little hole wasn't going to go away, but it was together again.

Still, down inside, I felt a bit disappointed. 

I'll never be able to use this again. Ever. It's just going to sit on my shelf and collect dust. What's the use?

And that's when I realized.

Really, this cup was never made to be a drinking vessel. It broke because I was making it do something it was never made to do. 

And now that it had shattered, and been glued back together, it could fulfill the real purpose it's maker had intended for it.

The cup's still sitting on my shelf. 

And somewhere down inside, I wonder how many other things in my life have been broken just because I was trying to use them in a way they never were meant to be used. 

I wonder if, perhaps, some things have broken just so He can put them back together again. A little differently. Bearing the scars of what went before--oh, but that only makes it more beautiful. Because the scar is a reminder of how merciful He is.

Dreams. Friendships. A heart. 

Scarred. But reminders of the mercy.

And, by such a token, more precious than if they had never shattered in the beginning.