Being broken saved me….kind of like the Sri Lankan frogmouth. Frog what you ask? The Sri Lankan frogmouth. Lest you think I’m an avid bird expert, I’ll tell you right now I’d never ever heard of one before last week. I was reading some blog (I can’t remember which one….i read a bunch!) and that’s how I discovered the little cutie. They are quite interesting little creatures; nocturnal, they prefer to keep to themselves. They have their own unique song they sing in the morning and then again in the evening. They aren’t dressed as glamorously as say the Painted bunting or Scarlet macaw, they are rather plain looking. In fact, they mostly resemble a tree branch with their brown feathers and grey whispy patches on their breast that resembles moss. They use this coloring to their advantage. I guess when God created them, He knew they would need a defensive device to ward off predators and so He whispered in their ear and told them what to do. Whenever they feel alerted to danger, they will stretch out their bodies and point their beak upward and to a predator (and to you and me), they can easily be mistaken for a jagged, broken branch. The predator, noticing nothing unusual, moves on. Being a “broken branch” is what saves them. Broken equals life. Now that’s not your typical equation, but God isn’t in the business of typical. He’s in the miracle making business. And He seems to like to work with broken things. A man on the run who is a broken and disheartened herder of sheep until he sees a burning bush. A weeping King crying “Restore to me the joy of my salvation”. A man in chains with a fresh haircut and a simple prayer from his lips, “one more time Lord.” A disillusioned man who had once pledged his faith with boldness but now cursed and denied it repeatedly, three times to be exact. Growing up in the church, I heard the stories of these men over and over, and countless other stories of brokenness. My father, a preacher of the gospel, could deliver a sermon about these men in a way that had you standing on holy ground right next to Moses. So close you could feel the heat coming off your Bible as if the bush had been lit right before you. I was enthralled with the stories. God speaking out of a bush on fire? God telling Noah to pick up a hammer? God revealing to Rahab that it might indeed be wise to hide two spies? God calling Peter “The Rock on which I’ll build my church”? But as I look back, I realize I was always just waiting for the happy ending. Moses would cross the Red Sea with the Israelites. Noah would survive a flood and build an altar. Rahab would be saved along with her family. Peter would indeed go on to be a Holy Ghost Preacher. Those were the parts I couldn’t wait to get too! We all like a happy ending, yes? I am such a believer in happy endings that I used to always read the last line of a book before I purchased it. If the last line had anything sad sounding at all in it like…tears, she was alone, and then he died, etc…..I would close that book up and keep looking. I know that’s crazy! I mean what if “she was alone” WAS a happy ending? Who can know when you haven’t even read the story? I think I was just afraid of drudging through the hard stuff that leads to the happy ending, you know? I guess that’s why I wasn’t ready for my broken. My wilderness. My mess. I thought I could skip all that to the happy ending. I mean, can we just get on with this God? Can’t you make me patient without making me wait? Can’t you develop perseverance without giving me a trial? Can’t you give me humility and compassion without crushing my proud spirit? Turns out the answer to all that was a loving, but firm, no. But here’s the thing I’ve learned. God knew a predator was after me. God knew what things He still had for me to do. And He knew the one way to save me was to allow me to be broken. It wasn’t easy. There were hard years. Very hard years. But God was faithful and brought me through. There’s a bird somewhere in Sri Lanka that still sits on branch and sings his song at the sunrise and sunset of each day because he looks like a jagged, broken branch. I still have a song to sing. I look a lot like a jagged, broken branch too. And at the sunrise and sunset of each day, I will faithfully sing to my Maker.
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AuthorHi! I am Donna and I'm traveling. It's a journey to discover who I am in Christ every day....no looking back, face to the Son! Come join me! Archives
October 2017
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