Title: When God Whispers Through Broken Things
Intro: God whispers through broken things, through cracks in our hearts where hurt and hope meet.
Scripture: 2 Corinthians 4:7
Reflection
Dear Friends,
One of my friends, David, shared yesterday that he stood in his garage last Tuesday, sorting through boxes he had meant to unpack two years ago, when he found it—a ceramic bowl his grandmother made, cracked clean down the middle. He held the two pieces in his hands, remembering how she would serve him soup in it every Sunday after church, how her kitchen always smelled like bread and grace. The crack felt like a metaphor for everything he had been carrying lately: the argument with his son that left words hanging in the air like smoke, the news from his sister about her marriage falling apart, and the way his own heart feels some mornings when he wakes up wondering if he is doing any of this right. He almost threw the bowl away. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the memory of his grandmother’s hands, worn and beautiful, shaping clay into something useful. Maybe it was God, whispering through the broken thing in his palms.
In 2 Corinthians 4:7, Paul writes, “We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” Jars of clay. Breakable, fragile, ordinary. That is us, isn’t it? We crack under pressure. We chip when life gets rough. We are not made of steel or stone, but earth and dust, just like Adam in the beginning. I think about Stella’s daughter Anna, who came to me last week with tears streaming down her face because she did not make the team. She felt broken and unworthy, like all her practice and hope had shattered on the gym floor. I held her and thought about how God holds us when we feel that way—gently, knowing we are fragile, loving us anyway.
My dad used to say that God does not waste anything, not even our pain. He would tell me stories about his own father, my grandfather, who lost everything in the Depression—farm, savings, pride. But somehow, in that emptiness, he found faith. He would gather the family every night to pray, not fancy prayers, just honest ones. “God, we are hungry. We are scared. Help us see tomorrow.” And they did see tomorrow, one day at a time, held together not by what they had but by Whom they trusted. That is the treasure Paul talks about—not our strength, but God’s power working through our weakness. When we are cracked open, that is when the light gets in.
I have been thinking a lot about Psalm 34:18, which says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Close. Not distant, not waiting for us to fix ourselves first, but close. My friend Rachel buried her mom six months ago. She told me that in the weeks after the funeral, when everyone stopped calling and the casseroles stopped coming, that is when she felt God most. Not in big, dramatic ways, but in small ones—a cardinal at the window every morning, her mom’s favourite bird. A song on the radio that made her cry and smile at the same time. A text from a stranger at church who said, “I am praying for you today.” God whispers through broken things, through cracks in our hearts where hurt and hope meet.
But here is what gets me about broken things—they tell a story. That bowl in David’s garage is not worthless because it is cracked. If anything, it is more precious now because he remembers how it broke. He was twelve, washing dishes after watching a movie, daydreaming instead of paying attention, and it slipped from his soapy hands. He thought his grandmother would be furious, but she picked up the pieces, smiled, and said, “Sweetheart, we are all a little broken. It is how the love leaks out.” She kept those pieces in a drawer for years. He never understood why until now. She was teaching him something about grace, about how God does not discard us when we crack.
In Isaiah 61:1, Jesus reads these words in the synagogue: “He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners.” Bind up. Not throw away, not replace, but heal, restore, make whole again. The Japanese have this art called kintsugi, where they repair broken pottery with gold. The cracks become part of the beauty, highlighted instead of hidden. That is what God does with us. He takes our broken places—the divorce, the addiction, the failure, the grief—and fills them with grace. Our cracks become part of our testimony, proof that we have survived, that we have been touched by the hands of a healing God.
Edson’s son, Jake, is seventeen now, all elbows and attitude and dreams too big for our small town. Last month, he told Edson he does not know if he believes in God anymore. Edson’s heart cracked when he said it. He wanted to fix it, to argue, to pull out all the right scriptures and make him see. But instead, he just listened. Jake told him about his friend who died last year, about prayers that felt unanswered, and about how church sometimes feels like a show. Edson thought about how honest he was being and how brave it is to voice doubt instead of fake faith. And he told him what his dad once told him: “Faith is not about having all the answers. It is about wrestling with the questions and trusting that God can handle your honesty.” They prayed together that day, a broken prayer from a father with a cracked-open heart, asking God to meet Jake where he is. Edson does not know how the story ends yet, but he trusts the Author.
Romans 8:28 promises us, “In all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” All things. Not just the pretty things, the easy things, the things we would choose. All things—even the broken ones. I see this in Chris’ marriage. She and her husband celebrated twenty years last summer, but if she is honest, they have had seasons where they barely liked each other. Seasons where they went to bed angry, where they said things they could not take back, where they wondered if they would make it. But somewhere in those cracks, in the choosing to stay when leaving felt easier, God was working. He was teaching them about commitment, about forgiveness, about love that is deeper than feelings. Their marriage is not perfect, but it is real, and the cracks have made it stronger.
I think about the women in the Bible who knew what it meant to be broken. There is the woman at the well in John 4, who had been married five times and was living with a man who was not her husband. She came to draw water in the heat of the day, probably to avoid the stares and whispers. But Jesus met her there, saw her brokenness, and offered her living water. He did not condemn her; He transformed her. She ran back to town and told everyone, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did” (John 4:29). Her cracks became her testimony. Or Mary Magdalene, who had seven demons cast out of her (Luke 8:2), who became one of Jesus’ most devoted followers, and who was the first to see Him risen. God specialises in taking broken people and making them whole.
So what do we do with our brokenness? I think we stop pretending we are not cracked. We stop hiding the pieces and hoping no one notices. We bring them to Jesus, the One who was broken for us. In Luke 22:19, at the Last Supper, Jesus takes bread, breaks it, and says, “This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.” He was broken so we could be made whole. His body, torn and bleeding on a cross, whispers to our brokenness, “You are loved. You are seen. You are Mine.” And when we come to Him with our cracks and chips and fractures, He does not turn us away. He gathers the pieces, holds them tenderly, and begins the slow, beautiful work of healing.
David has decided to keep his grandmother’s bowl. He is going to try that kintsugi thing, fill the crack with gold and make it beautiful again. Not because he is crafty or artistic, but because he wants to remember that broken things can still hold something precious. He wants his children to see it and know that they do not have to be perfect to be loved. That their family, with all its mess and mistakes and moments of grace, is held together not by their goodness but by God’s. That when they crack—and they will crack—there’s a Saviour who binds them up, who whispers through their broken places, who makes their scars into stories of redemption.
So today, wherever your cracks are, know this: God is close. He sees you. He loves you. And He is not finished with you yet. Bring Him your broken things—your heart, your dreams, your family, your faith. Let Him fill the cracks with gold.
Let us pray. Father, thank You for loving us in our brokenness. Heal our cracks. Make us whole. Help us trust that You are working even when we cannot see it.
May the heart of Jesus live in the hearts of all. Amen.
