I’ve written about how opening a shop brought back my sense of community.

Walking around our little square, lots of the same people in and out of our shop, eating at the same local spots over and over…it really has a certain Mayberry charm.  One of my most peace-filled times is when I’m able to drive around downtown.

Small Town Life | perfectly imperfect

crumbling, beautiful glory all around

This building moves me–I can’t explain it, put a finger on it.  There is nothing normal about my love or connection to the old place.  I didn’t grow up walking through the doors, or my parents having their car serviced there…there is no seeming connection.


That crumbling of bricks reminds me of the crumbling of my soul and how very little I have it all together, figured, glued haphazardly.  Broken streets are like broken lives, and it’s quite easy to only see the torn bits and decaying pieces.

Your feet pass on the pavement, digging into cracks and crevices, and your only thought is of how much it hurts and cracks deeper.  The life you wanted, the confidence you crave, the marriage you sought, the perfectly behaved children, the ugly spirit inside, it continues to crack as you walk through your mind, your life.

Sometimes, though…

I remember.  That while I am broken, used, less, angry, worn, snappy, selfish, and ungrateful…He is in the business of healing the broken.  Maybe all God needs is for me to rest, revel even, in the brokenness.

Maybe all He needs, friends, is for us to stop holding the crumbling bits together and let them fall to the ground unhindered and bound, so he can plant them firmly with Mercy and Grace.  Maybe He will work ever so diligently to make sure we don’t wind up there anytime soon, and when we do, we are not alone.

I fold the laundry today and wash dishes from last night’s dinner, and clean up messes on the school table, and my eyes see the crumbling.  The failed attempts at a whole life, where I seek and search and try.  I see the yearning, the stretching, the longing, the falling short.

My eyes find it easy to feel broken.

My heart, though, knows better.  The undone dishes were stolen away for a relaxing business meeting on the back porch with my creative team, the day-late laundry saved so I could steal fleeting cuddles on the couch, and the mess on the school table was left for another day so we could nurture a heart, not just a mind.

My eyes see the crumbling and shy away.

My heart finds the secret and holds it tightly…it slowly welcomes it and Him along with it.

In the crumbling, there is Glory untold.

May your days be filled with crumbling brokenness and healing moments…let go, today, friends.

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