Buried in the Depths of the Sea

Walking on the beach at sunrise recently, I couldn't help but notice the beach littered with broken shells. The raging storm from the night before forced pieces of God's handiwork on shore for everyone to see and trample through.

As I moved along the beach, images of the broken pieces of my life lay before me, as if washed onto the shore of my soul. I recalled the pain of sorting through the shards of anger, resentment, grief, unforgiveness, and shame. My brokenness was hidden unless you got close enough to see my jagged edges.

An interesting thing about the ebb and flow of the tide is that the same water that emptied her rage also has the power to carry it back to the depths of the sea. The beach is eventually wiped clean with smooth hard sand, ready for walking.

That's what God did for me. He allowed the storms of my life to find their way to the surface, spread them out across the canvas of His light and truth, and then He washed me clean, carrying the burden of my brokenness back to the deepest part of the sea. Peace wafted over my soul, as the rhythm of His mercy and grace gave me hope for a new day.

What storms have you faced, or in the midst of now? Might you be tiptoeing through the debris of your brokenness, looking for a clear path? He can lead you through the painful journey to a life free of broken pieces.

The Word says His mercy is new every morning, great is His faithfulness. Just as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, you can trust Him to bind up the wounds of your brokenness, and set you free to walk in freedom.

I don't ever want to forget His power over my life, the love He demonstrated to me, and the hope of eternal life with Him. All the broken pieces were worth the peace of walking in freedom.

If Teacups Were Women, A Thanksgiving Post

I have a collection of teacups in my dining room that's spilled over into my kitchen, and even into a bedroom, or two. They make me happy. Not in the kind of happiness like holding a baby for the first time, or hearing someone say, "I love you," but that homey kind of settled happy.

I've been collecting teacups for many years, and not just any cup, it must speak to me.

There were a few cups sitting on the bar waiting for a new home. I noticed how they'd been well used. I walked into my dining room and took a quick tour of the cups sitting on the buffet. They sit there every day as I casually walk past them but today was different. Most of these cups are rarely used...beautiful to look at, dainty, gold trimmed, fine porcelain cups.

Today, as I looked at my cups I was reminded of how cups are like women.

You know the one in your group of friends on Facebook who posts everything about her perfect life and you slither to the floor as you recall your not-so-perfect life. Your voice goes silent as the girls chatter on about their perfect marriages and their perfect children with their perfect grades. She has the gorgeous face, clothes, and body to go with her life and you bleed with envy. That perfect cup has never been used. It's probably not been through the fire yet, or maybe she's just good at hiding her flaws.

Then there's the hardworking girl that everyone likes. She's not ashamed of who she is. She's beautiful in her own way, yet smart and simple at the same time, a girl next door kind of quality. Her beauty comes from the fact that she knows she has a purpose. She's tough and she knows how to roll with life's harshness. I like this girl and her cup. I have several Transferware cups that are sturdy and dependable. They have character about them if you look closely enough at the detail. Most people don't take time to look past the simplicity of this girl. But trust me, she's worth a second look. This cup can take the heat of the dishwasher and come out beautiful every time.

And then there's the last cup I noticed in my collection. This one is beautiful and fragile. She's been through the fire and survived. Chips and cracks reveal the years of use to her frame, yet she can still serve her purpose. She was created to hold hot liquid, to be held in the hands of another. Her flowers, though faded, still bear the mark of her creator. If she could talk, I wonder what stories of love and loss she would tell. She might tell of tea parties and love stories, of little girls and weddings, and late night worries of sick babies.

I often think on these things as I'm drinking from antique cups of generations of women no longer with us. What stories would my Ma Bailey or my mother share with me if they were alive? I can only see them in my dreams where they live, and as I remember them.

Which cup are you? Have you been through the fire? You may be fragile as the last cup, but don't give up. You've come through the fire and you have purpose. You're strong and beautiful and if my cup could talk she'd tell you the same.

I've been through the fire, and so have many of you. There is One who is faithful to go through the fire with me, and you. I like to think I come from sturdy stock, but sometimes I'm so fragile the only thing holding me together are the flowers on the side of the cup. It's during those times my Savior is the one who gently picks up the cup and says, "This one's mine, I'll hold her today."

This Thanksgiving, 2015, I'm most thankful for Jesus, the Shepherd, who cares for me tenderly and loves me with an everlasting love.

He'd love to add you to His collection. I can promise He'll handle with care and your cup will always be full and running over...if you allow Him to fill it.

Happy Thanksgiving,
Cindy

Beauty in the Broken

I love old furniture. Let me rephrase that statement. I love furniture in general, but I particularly love traipsing around antique stores looking for pieces that need new life. Tiger oak is my favorite kind of wood and you can find it in all variations of furniture and degrees of decay. You must look past the grit, grime, and scratches, as well as the junk surrounding it in the store to what it could be.

I drove to a neighboring town last week to pick up a table. Since I had a truck I decided to stop at another antique store down the street. There might be a treasure awaiting me, and my table wouldn't be lonely. I was almost ready to leave (actually I was out of time) when my eyes locked on a dresser in a back booth. It was covered with a black, sticky gunk, but I could see tiger oak peeking through in a few places. The long mirror captured my entire reflection and reminded me of a dresser at my Ma Bailey's house. There are some pieces that make a heart connection, and this was one of them. I looked at the price tag and it was reasonable. Then I noticed a 20% off sign on the wall and that made it even better.

My table was not alone.

I began work on the dresser. Filthy doesn't even come close. The drawers were filled with bugs and cobwebs. I washed and rinsed and washed and rinsed. When I started sanding the top I thought it would be easy. I was wrong. The layers of black seemed to go on and on. At first, I thought I'm not sure this is worth it. I don't see anything beautiful emerging. But, I kept sanding and the black grit crumbled away little by little.

She was a broken woman, shunned by all who knew her. Men had used her and thrown her away. The Pharisees were ready to stone her for her sin. But Jesus. He saw her heart. His eyes of love pierced through her brokenness, the lies, the shame, and the guilt. He saw her potential. He told her what she could be if the blackness of her life was removed. She could live and breathe in the beauty of His holiness. John 8:1-8

A life repurposed.

It's never too late for God to turn junk into a treasure. What one has tossed aside can be another's path to a new life.

There is life on the other side of brokenness. The process of getting there isn't easy but it's worth the sanding and the pain in the waiting. In time, it will be beautiful, and ready for service in His kingdom.

If you're broken, there's beauty in the brokenness. Don't give up on yourself. Let God remake you from the inside out. His specialty is looking for the ones who are hurting. He is tender and merciful and wants to meet your every need. You must turn to Him and acknowledge your need for Him.

You will seek me and find me 

when you seek me with all your heart.

Jeremiah 29:13

For those of you who may be the Pharisee, try to look past the outward appearance. There is a beating heart inside every person you meet. There is a life story they carry, burdens they bear you know nothing about. Give grace where needed. Love unconditionally, expecting nothing in return.

I'm still working on my dresser and it's turning out more beautiful than I expected. I'm so thankful I didn't give up on it. It's been worth much more than the money I invested. It's a treasure I think I'll keep for myself, a visible reminder of my worth in broken places.

His death and resurrection are a visible reminder of your worth in His eyes. You are beautiful to Him, scratches and all. Let Him use the healing balm of His love to sand away the pain of your broken life. I promise He will do it. He did it for me.

Cindy