Broken Pieces

It had been an overcast morning but by afternoon the sun was in full force. I was looking for my sunglasses and recalled a certain little boy had asked to borrow them on the morning ride.

"Hey bud, can mommy have her glasses back?" I asked.

Dead silence. 

I peered through the rearview mirror to see if he was lost in imagination only to realize he was very much listening. Head down, hand to his forehead, I knew something was wrong.

"Eli, did you hear mommy?" This time I was going to wait for a response.

With hesitation, he started to reply, "Yes, but..."

I was willing to wait. I wasn't exactly sure what was going on but I knew he had something to say.

I could hear some shuffeling from the backseat and then I heard his explanation.

"Mommy, I accidentally broke your glasses and I didn't want you to be mad so I hid them."

From the side panel of the door he was now producing a pair of glasses with a detached piece. 

When I had given him the well-worn glasses that morning, I knew they had a chance to pop out of place. It had happened to me a number of times before. And truthfully, I wasn't concerned if they were "broken" if he played with them because they weren't my best pair and I had several more in the car already. Even so, a lesson was unfolding and I was grateful.

"Eli, mommy wants to tell you something..."

He quickly jumped in and asked if I was mad.

"NO," I assured him, "In fact, I'm proud of you. Do you know why?"

I could see the worry turning to confusion as he shook his head. 

"I'm proud of you for telling me the truth. You hid the glasses because you didn't want mommy to be mad at you, but it was more important that you told the truth and were honest. Thank you for telling me."

With that, I had snapped the glasses back in place and produced them whole again for him to see.

"MOM! You fixed them?!" he was elated.

"Yep, sure did. I'm not upset, Eli. I want you to always be able to come to me, no matter what. I want you to tell me the truth because that is what is most important."

How often do I try to hide my mistakes from God? An all-knowing, loving Father who sometimes hands me things knowing I'm (probably, most likely) going to make a mess of it? How often do I try to discard that which I've destroyed and hope he'll forget about it? Why am I afraid to come to Him and tell Him I messed up? Why do I fear His wrath? Has He dealt with me so harshly before that He's never welcomed me back? Certainly not! Have I not already learned, from previous mistakes and failures, that He just wants me to come to Him?

And why, oh why on earth, have I not learned that every time I hand Him over the broken pieces He can make a masterpiece of whatever mess I've made? All He asks is that I come to Him, bring Him everything, all of me, broken pieces, messes and all. He asks me to be willing to be transparent, honest, open. He calls to me when I'm weary and broken. He offers rest, restoration and redemption. 

But He can't fix it, none of it, if I refuse to bring it to Him. How many broken pieces have I tried to hide, sweep to the side, toss away for fear of disappointing Him - again? I'm certain there are times in my attempts to cover things up that He's been waiting, wanting to ask me, hoping I'd come, yet all the while I sit back and think I got away with something, I got by without Him knowing the mess I created. The brokenness remains unseen, but the ability for Him to mend those broken pieces also remains undone. 

Take it to Him. Whatever it is. However broken, no matter the mess. Give it to God and let Him work.