Broken

When I join up with FMF over here, five ticks on the clock go very quickly.

Here's my effort at a full hand of minutes writing about "Broken"...

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I can think of worse things to be called.
Worse than broken.

Forgotten.
Unloved.
Negligent.
Hopeless.
Unwanted.
Selfish.
Cornered.
Slave.
These are worse.

Broken, while stating a present reality
does not have to be my terminal diagnosis.

Broken can sound like my end
but simply make way for the newness of beginning.

Broken doesn't mean useless.
Neither does it translate to unworthiness nor insignificance.

Broken
puts me in the company
of Jesus, 
like the bread he tore in the upstairs room.

Broken
puts me in the presence 
of Paul, 
who shares in vagueness
his side-thorn.

Broken
makes me pals
with the likes of
fearful Moses, 
indulgent David.

Broken
keeps company
with the prostitute Rahab, 
and deceitful Tamar, 
and grieving Martha.

Broken
has the potential
to plant me 
directly 
in front
of a miracle.

Yes, I can think of much worse things to be called than broken.