Today is Good Friday. The day that we remember the sacrifice that Jesus made for us. And today, I get to introduce you to my friend Sara Cormany. Sara is a gifted writer whose writing touches my heart every time I read it. She has graciously agreed to fill this space on the first Friday of every month. I know you'll enjoy hearing from her as much as I do. Today, enjoy being reminded that because of the cross, Jesus can pick up our broken pieces.
Sleepily, I padded into the kitchen this morning. Lifted the baby into her highchair. And threw some dried cereal in her general direction, secretly hoping it would give me a moment to collect myself.
I would like to say that moment involved perusing something amusing on the internet. Or intensely conversing on the phone with a dear friend. In truth, I would like that moment to involve anything other than what it actually did involve:
Blank staring. A dirty kitchen sink. And one exhausted woman.
But in an effort to be completely authentic, I will confirm that I was, indeed, emptily gawking at said sink when it happened. An enormous crash. Followed by a random object hitting me squarely in the back of the head.
I turned to see my son standing on a chair looking sheepish. My daughter, in her high chair holding decorative berries in her hand. And my resin cross that normally rested on our buffet, in pieces on the floor.
My reaction was less than gracious. I most likely shouted “Noooooo!!!” “Aaccckk!!!” or “What in the world?” Something not terribly brilliant but definitely too dramatic for the demise of a $10 cross from Hobby Lobby.
As I huffed and puffed while looking for a lone candle that had also vanished, I caught something out of the corner of my eye:
It was my son. Who had since climbed down from the chair. And was now systematically gathering the pieces of the cross.
I stopped for a moment and just watched him. He lovingly picked them up. Made a pile. And began attempting to put the pieces back together.
I sat down beside him and said, “What are you doing, buddy?”
Focused on the task at hand, he kept working but managed to say quietly, “Jesus died on the cross for me.”
Suddenly, all the frustration over the mess melted away. I took his sweet face in my hands. And spoke words that were really meant for me. “You’re right, Drew. And just like you, He takes all our broken pieces and puts them back together to make something beautiful.”
A few hours later, I took the time to painstakingly put the cross back together. Piece by piece. Super-gluing my thumb and forefinger together several times.
But I even didn’t mind that so much.
You see, my broken cross was more beautiful than it had ever been before.
Now, when I look at it, I won’t just see a cheap resin cross from Hobby Lobby. I will, in fact, see something far more precious. Something that will keep me fixed on a simple truth that often I miss in my journey with Jesus.
That something echoes back to me in my son’s simple utterance, “Jesus died on the cross for me.”
Over and over again, I hear it. It floods my mind with its simplicity. And takes my breath away at its sufficiency.
But its power screams to me as I say the words out loud...
The cross really is enough.
In our humanness, we will try to obsess about brokenness just as I did the mess. Or we will focus on fixing what is broken, as my son did with the cross. We will attempt to do this with friends, with spouses, with children and even with ourselves.
But the cross is enough.
Lay friends before its shadow. Or spouses. Or children.
Or even yourself.
It is as Isaiah reminds us, “He was beaten so we could be whole.”
And it is why on my buffet, you will find a broken cross.
Chipped. Slightly crooked. And beautifully missing a tiny piece in the center.
Couched by the offending decorative berries. Near a picture of the little hands that tried so earnestly to put it back together. And placed visibly for all to see.
Our daily reminder that Jesus picks up our broken pieces. Puts them lovingly back together. And makes us perfectly whole.
Sara Cormany is mommy to six-year-old Grace, four-year-old Drew and one-year-old Sophie. When she is not wiping noses, changing diapers or chasing after runaway candles, she is a sometimes writer and a sometimes teacher to teenagers. But her most cherished role is that of one who is perfectly held by Jesus. She loves watching Him take the broken, the messy and the seemingly mundane of her everyday and turn it into something beautiful.
Linking up today with Beholding Glory.