She threw the plate down on the carpet. Or maybe she dropped it. Either way, it shattered everywhere, even into the next two rooms.
We stood in a sea of shards.
With bare feet.
She tried to run away, but I scooped her up in my arms.
And then I woke up.
This is Good Friday. And I’m thinking how God stripped Himself bare and threw Himself down into the midst of our brokenness.
Because He longed to gather this fractured world to His breast. And He wept for the love of it. For the love of us.
But we shattered Him. Stabbed His head with thorns. Shred his flesh with shards.
He stumbled under the weight of the cross, body broken into bread without a bone broken, blood letting life.
He hangs under our debt, scoops up all our pieces, stretches out to pull us from our ruins.
And we reach for Him with all our shattered praise and our broken hallelujahs.
Stilled by His shattering,