Using the Broken Pieces

For whatever reason, I am unable to make decent paragraphs. Imagine they're there, please.

He broke the angel yesterday. I received this Nativity set from my in-laws about 5 years ago. Oh, how I love it! It was my very first set. Lurve Jim Shore's artwork--especially in this set--because it marries my lurve of all things quilting with my love of Christmas. You see, I like to call myself a quilter. I am enthralled with the creative process of using useless, cast aside pieces and fashioning them into something useful, and, hopefully, beautiful. But where was I? Oh, yes. He broke the angel.

THIS angel. (grrr.) Oh, I glued the wings back on. But still. You can tell.

Now, I also have a beautiful ceramic nativity set which I bought at a garage sale. It's loaded with pageantry and lovely colors--I'm sure it was JUST LIKE the manger scene all those years ago. ;) No, I know better, but it sure looks nice on my table. Or it did. Before "Baby Jesus" broke and had to be swept and discarded, and before "Gabriel" took a terrible tumble, and required a transverse waist to hip corrective glue surgical procedure. Thankfully, s/he survived. Yes, I know Gabriel was a "he", but isn't it funny--all the angels are girly? Oopsie, digressing again.

Why are all the nativity sets in danger you ask? Because of David. My beloved son. My "(crash!) um, Mom...we have a bit of a problem..." son. A son who loves history, and wants things to be just so. A son who, for the past several years, has rearranged both nativities to suit the picture of authenticity in his mind's eye. Oh, it bugs me. And then i pause (not often enough, of course) and think to myself, "who cares?" I mean, who cares about how these nativity scenes end up if my son knows the meaning of Christmas?

I'll admit this attitude is often hard to come by, especially when David starts breaking arranging my special Jim Shore nativity. My perfect set. My Mary. My Jesus. My Shepherds. Etc.

Ouch. My.

Well, yes, He is mine. But He came to save the world. The battered and worn world. A world full of broken pieces. And He, Himself, was broken for us on the cross.

He came for a boy who feels like he messes up a lot--in school, with other kids his age, but knows he's precious because of who he is and Whose he is.

He came for a girl who traverses the unsure realities of middle school with a brave smile and a too often bruised heart.

He came for a man. A good man. A man who doesn't quite know what to believe, but who knows that Christmas is a time for coming together and for celebrating something special.

He came for all of us who are rehearsing the Christmas play at my church. Oh, the pride, the insufficiencies in words and music. The tireless trying and still not quite getting it right, but getting almost there. Oh, how He eclipses those and brings us all together inspite of ourselves.

He came for a quilter who has sometimes felt useless, battered, and worn, herself. Good pieces here, colors that don't match there. But inexplicably, pulled together into someone who still has holes. Someone who still has rough edges and seams, but in His grace, feels beautiful.

Thank You, Lord. Though it is never enough. Thank You.