A scene of scattered pieces, of emotion trembling on the brink of despair, condemnation, or fear, provokes a perspective complicated and incomprehensible. Each time seated in confusion, lying in tears, or pacing in anxiety, as traumatic as before. Thinking I should be accustomed to and undisturbed by the helplessness, only increases difficulty. Though familiar, this scene is unforeseen; shears navigate differently through each swathe of life.
Ragged and misshapen pieces left after investing in others argue an identity of scrap- forgotten, useless; waste. Someone else has glory carved out of my life in encouragement, hope, prayer, giving, exertion, weeping and cheers, and refusing to give up. But suddenly left behind is less of myself for myself, rumpled, frayed, doubting it is more blessed to give than to receive. I feel a loss and wonder who I am and if I matter anymore.
Other times the state of disarray, less noble, is my own fault rather than a love offering. Ignored sin, or simply blindness to it, and presumed infallibility, take much, leaving holes where I just want to feel whole and scraps that spell shame rather than hope.
And then sometimes the pieces lie after Sovereignly guided scissors cut into life further than expected. That offense He allows, that security He asks me to relinquish, the difficult circumstance He lead me into, they leave pieces of me strewn, and I am sure I am and can be nothing more than a mess.
But to have, after everyone else has overlooked or abandoned, after sin has destroyed much, and after the Master has chastened; a Saviour declare: “I will surely assemble all of thee; I will surely gather the remnant[s] of [your life]; I will put them together. . .” (Mic 2:12a) is a wonder that will take eternity to rejoice in.
There is something incredibly special, overwhelmingly splendid to be scrap and discover you can become useful, even beautiful. No edges are too uneven, or misconstrued. The misshapen pieces can be the exact features that will make the end artistic. Though He keeps me waiting, He never forgets me. There is a place to rest in hopeful expectation amid the confusing collection of scraps. It is the place where “we all, with open face [behold] as in a glass the glory of the Lord, [and] are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.” 2Co 3:18
To The One who lets nothing go to waste, scrap is destined to be an ornament of His love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, and faith. What cannot be seen now of what He is intending to make, will be on display one day. Faith will begin to reveal the progress until all is revealed after Life’s final transition into eternity. There are no scraps there. My life, remade and assembled, will become a whole of praise that worships Him who made my transformation possible.
Sigh,
EM
