Beautifully Broken

I stood at the kitchen counter, a head of lettuce recently pulled from my garden resting in my hand; cold tap water trickling into the sink. Pulling at each tender leaf, I carefully rinse off the dirt kicked up by the pounding rain from last nights storm. The outer leaves have taken their toll from the beating sun and the bugs that feed on its offering. My fingers trace the burnt lines and chewed holes. I tell myself that they are of no use to me and my family that will partake of them, and so they are discarded into my bucket of useless scraps.

My bucket fills quickly. Too quickly. Today it overflows and it must be taken care of.

I carry my bucket holding the discards of my life through the fresh cut dark green grass, past my arbor full of flowering clematis. I stand in their shade for a moment, breathing deeply, watching the fuschia petals dance in the light breeze. A happy dance. Earth grown, sunshine beauty. Nourished from beautiful, life-giving soil.



I look down at my scraps. Discards of seemingly uselessness. Hurt. Anger. Frustration. Brokenness. Death. Life’s scraps.

Where did I leave my scent of summertime flowers? How did I lose my love for the dancing breeze?

Resting in the morning shade of my apple tree sits my compost pile. It’s putrid. My neglected scraps have rotted within the center. The outer edges have become dried out and brittle. Crumbling with life’s slightest pressure.

I cannot neglect it any longer. It needs to be churned. New breath into the darkness and stench of the heart. The smell gets stronger. I cover my face. It’s almost too much to take in.

There’s pain in the churning. Violent upheaval. Broken I fall to my knees. Honesty spills from the dark places of my heart.

Only in brokenness can there be found true restoration.

The churning has slowed. Where there was once stench in my nostrils now becomes the smell of sweet defeat.



In my brokenness I am delivered. Through the process of restoration, my discarded scraps have become life-giving soil. Only when my roots run deep in Him can I externalize this truth and nourish others.




My soul has found a quiet resting place. Now no longer tormented, can I bring about a true harvest.