When we fill like every thing has fallen apartThere comes a time in our walk of greif and other times in our life we feel so torn apart. Thinking and reflecting on this the last few days. I asked myself, why have I become so different so in pieces. I try and move on but yet I can't in pieces, that seem not to make any sense. THe crying has stopped for now. But the mind and the body are still half apart, not really half I would say many pieces lying on the ground. And when the wind blows they do not flutter away they stand tall and strong on the sidewalk. If they flew away would I have the strength. I was something different being Harry's wife. A blessing I will take to my grave. I look at my son and wander why GOd has given him a mother that is not all together there. The finacial end is so different. The paperwork is so overwhelming that I can't even make sense. I look around to the people around me. They all have changed. Not fitting in with the old crowd. Now that I am widdow. And to young to fit into the widdows that are near. Then there is the singles that have no idea what life is like when you are one and in love with someone else. I walk in the old run down house, and say why do I not have the energy to change it. Why am I not mechanically in toon. God once sent me a carpenter and locksmith, who loved to fix things. Then he gave me Harry and Mr. Fix it was his name. SO why can't the pieces be put together. Fallen apart that is what I did that year in half ago. Not knowing where I truely belong or who I truely was I began to search. So yesterday as I was thinking and meditating on the Lord's word. I notice something about me. I am broken vase, shattered in pieces. Jagged edges around the broken glasses.Each piece represent something inside of me. Something of who I am. They are not smooth, but rough and unable to be placed together. So gently I take each one of the burdens inside the hearteach burden is represented by piece of the vase.As I move on daily I try to place them in my Saviors hand.He gently places them in his palm.The palm that shows evidence of his LOVE for me.How he died for meHow there is hope for tommorrow.So broken pieces go in the hand. He picks them up and begins to put the vase back together.Shining, and cutting the glass back together, smothing out the edges. And changing me He does. When it is all done(don't know when)The Vase will be beutiful and a new not like the one that is broken now. For GOd is the potter and I am his clay. Molding me for a better tommorrow.
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Very beautiful.