Broken Pieces...

I remember it like it was yesterday…a beautiful white jewelry box given to me for my 8th birthday and I adored it! When the box was opened, two velvet-lined ring trays would swing out to either side, and a tiny ballerina with a pink tutu would spring up and twirl to the melody of “Beautiful Dreamer.” Over and over and over I watched her dance. In time, however, the ballerina began to lean ever more precariously to one side, and her once graceful dance became some awkward, thumping sideways rotation. Soon, the entire spring mechanism failed, and the poor little thing plunged straight to the bottom of the pink-lined box.

In tears, I laid my broken treasure before my dad, who was extremely talented in all things mechanical. His only downfall was his scientific mind…before he could put something back in order, he was compelled by some inner drive to take the thing completely apart—every nut, bolt, and spring. He had to see for himself how it worked! As the poor little ballerina now lay in the midst of dozens of little metal thing-a-ma-jigs in the middle of my mom’s kitchen table, I was certain that she was headed for the great junk pile in the sky! I simply could not envision my music box resurrected from this confusing pile of parts.

But, as he eyed every single piece and studied the tiny motor that made the whole thing work, he slowly and deliberately reassembled the mechanism, tightening every screw. I leaned hard against his shoulder as he worked...watching...waiting…and finally, there she was, atop her little perch, en pointe, and ready to dance.

To this day, when my life seems to be unraveling, and all the pieces seem to be in disarray, I think about that music box, bewildered as to how my fix-it dad could possibly make it whole again. Once again, I come to the point that I can do nothing else but bring the broken pieces of my life before my Heavenly Father. "Please fix it, Daddy," is my heart’s cry…

"Lord, you already know how all the pieces fit together. You are the Master Craftsman, the Maker of all things, who knit me together in my mother’s womb, who decided to give me the diamond-shaped birthmark in the small of my back and attached those funny little eyelashes right in the corners of my eyes. You decided the melodies that would play in my heart and throughout my life. I can do nothing without Your touch…only YOU can put everything back together and make it all work. I recognize that, and I lean hard against Your shoulder...watching...waiting…"