Broken Toys

When you were young, did you ever go running to your dad, broken toy in hand, crying because you had destroyed your favorite play thing? And how often did your dad tell you that it would never be fixed and you should just throw it away? If he was anything like my dad, that was very rare. In my house, super glue could fix anything; several times. My dad would graciously fix my toys and return them to me for my pleasure, until I broke them again. But even with the most patient of fathers, there came a time when my dad would say that this was the last time he'd fix it, and if my toy broke again, we'd just have to throw the toy away and play with a different one. To me, this was a horrific idea. But to my father, it was no threat at all. Of course he would never throw away one of my favorite toys. He just knew that I needed to learn to play carefully with my toys. And I would learn.

I can't help but compare this childhood story to one of a more recent occurrence. All too often I find myself running back to God, with my life in ruins, and saying in the most pathetic, childish of voices "daddy will you fix it?" And as always, he does. God takes the broken pieces of my life, and glues them back together. Then I promise to take extra good care of it and do exactly what he told me to in order to make my life run smoother and more enjoyable. But just moments after I walk away, my life fully whole, I trip and it shatters yet again. But God would certainly never tell me that it's time to discard my life and try again with another one. Of course that's ridiculous. But what if he could? Would he? Would he roll his eyes and say that it's time to move on to something different? No. He would lovingly and caringly dry my tears and glue the pieces back together so that I may have yet another chance at happiness.

 It's a wonderful God I serve.