Shattered Things

Oh, hi.

Sorry I’ve been so quiet.

My plan was to disappear for a few weeks for finals, to write my papers and read my books and take my exams—all the things that were keeping my words busy. But finals have been over for two weeks now, and I’ve still had a hard time coming up with words for this space.

The thing is, I’m hiding.

You know how sometimes, everything slips out of your hands and shatters? Maybe it’s only a glass that falls, but it feels like everything. And you just want to sit in the shards and cry.

There isn’t a reason for it, really.

Except there is.

Well, not one reason, but a thousand little ones.

You feel the world sliding through your fingers. The places where you thought you had control are way beyond your reach. You don’t know how to make sense of it, so you do what you’ve always done. You sweep up the fragments and keep going.

But you still feel shattered.

You’re restless. You want answers, to know what’s next, to be able to satisfy the Type-A planner part of yourself. But you can’t. The answers just aren’t there. Not yet.

All you can do is wait.

Wait for test results, wait for appointments, wait for a phone call, wait.



Time crawls. You hear yourself start saying “if” in the places where you used to say, “when,” because you just don’t know anymore. And saying it out loud feels like another crack in your once-so-solid certainty.

You wait, and things keep falling. You don’t know what to do with the pieces that are left, so you hide. You hide from the words you need to write, from the thoughts racing around in your head, from the God who sees it all and still, somehow, calls you beloved.

You find that it’s easy to talk about resurrection when the world feels new, but in the cracks and chasms, when there isn’t a clear path forward, when the prayers you pray seem to fall on deaf ears, then it is harder to sing of new life.

It’s not the idea of newness that you doubt, but that it could actually touch the fragments you hold in your hands.

But then you remember. You remember that death comes before life, and sometimes, those things don’t tie up in neat little bows and perfect timelines like you want them to. Yes, the waiting feels like a part of you is dying.

Deeper than that, though, you know. You are breaking, but it is only when you break that you can learn to be made whole again.

You pause to listen, and you can still hear whispers of death coming undone. The roses out front bloom with persistence. Just as one gives way and dies, another bursts into life. And you dare to hope, if only for an instant, that maybe it’s true after all.

It hurts to shatter.

You’ve always known that, but you’re learning it all over again with every day of waiting, every plan that slides out of your hands.

But the broken pieces aren’t the end of the story.

You’re still restless. You still want answers, a plan.

But for today, you’re learning that there is grace for shattered things—even when the shattered thing is you.