In a small span of time, a lot can happen. In less than two weeks, I’ve embraced things torn—torn sheets, symbolic of the rips and tears that this life often leaves us with. Had I not embraced them, the brokenness that followed might’ve been more brutal.

It was midday on a Thursday when I heard the worst sound I’ve ever heard in my life. My father fell some twelve feet from an extension ladder while painting in my foyer. I was around the corner in my youngest daughter’s room putting up laundry. My mom had just told me that I should leave it, she would get it. But my parents had worked tirelessly painting my home while caring for me and two of our girls, all sick. They carpooled my grandson from preschool, cooked food. I would not have my mom fold my laundry too. I remember walking past the foyer where Dad was painting toward the small hallway to Sophie’s room; I remember feeling awful. Slowly, I made my way to her room and put away her clothes. Those moments seemed to have stood still. It’s odd, the timing of my determination to purposefully take in the moments on this particular day. Even in the hard places of this life, peace and joy can be found; contentment in the torn.

I’ve heard the sound of Daddy falling over and over in my head since that day. It’s sickening. The sight of him on the floor, left side of his body broken in more ways than we could’ve know then, makes me ache still. I’m not so great with trauma. I’m not generally calm. I ran past Daddy while Mama ran to his side and I screamed, “CALL 911!!” I was screaming to myself, although my niece and my grandson were in my bedroom listening to the commotion. The next hours were a whirlwind. My husband rushed home and we raced ahead of the ambulance to the ER. Dad’s left side sustained his fall leaving him with six broken ribs—some of which were broken in two places; a small lung puncture; laceration to his side; hip fracture; pelvis fracture; multiple scrapes and bruises; and shin broken in three places at the fibula, tibia, and just above his ankle. The following day, a rod was placed in his shin from his knee down.

Dad turns 77 March 21st. Until Thursday, February 5, he was not accustomed to slowing to the snail’s pace in which he currently moves. There’s a breaking that has gone far beyond the physical. I see it. It isn’t an easy thing. Yet it’s good. He is healing. Just as tears can be mended, bones can be healed. And brokenness from within often brings about a sweetness from the Lord that isn’t known any other way.

I’m broken; broken for my father. But I’m watching him heal and that has been healing for me. I’m watching an example of grace that I’m not sure he’s aware of. A friend shared with us recently about the visit he and his wife made to see Dad in the hospital. He said that my parents were in such great spirits; he said he wasn’t prepared for that. Given the situation, I can understand how that might take one by surprise. It has, me. It’s reminded me of another season just prior to Thanksgiving 2012 when Mom took a fall down stairs and broke her ankle. She never complained. I’ve watched my parents handle brokenness with such grace. It astounds me. Is it a perfect journey? No, of course not. Yet they are allowing the perfect One to work through them.

Brokenness is not an easy place. But it is a place of opportunity for us followers of Christ to allow Him to be glorified in and through us. It’s an opportunity for Him to be glorified in our healing.

The day before Valentine’s Day, a friend dropped off a set of new grey king size bed sheets on my front porch—a beautiful grey reflecting newness and grace in a world of brokenness where the masses are embracing other shades that will never, ever bring healing. The sowing of love by way of new sheets represents more than this friend could’ve known. Brokenness is being made whole. What was torn has not simply been mended—it’s been replaced with the new.

I embrace the brokenness, yet I am careful to look to the One who heals. I anticipate healing; I expect it. Brokenness is not a place to camp out forever. It’s but a season and I’m rejoicing already for that which is to come. I’m rejoicing now over new sheets.

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He makes all things new . . .  {Revelation 21:5}