Saturday, March 30, 2013

Five-Minute Friday: Broken

The entrance to a burial cave in southern Jerusalem, which a 2007 documentary by James Cameron claimed was the lost tomb of Christ.
Broken.  I see this word - this prompt for a Friday, and not just any Friday, but Good Friday - and I purse my lips.  I need a break from brokenness and I feel it down to the bone: I'm dragging my heart through this Holy Week, barely looking up.  It's Saturday, the eve of Easter.  My favorite season has almost passed by and I fear I've missed it.  Fear I'm not ready for Sunday, not ready to stand up and rejoice because I haven't fully immersed myself in the holy preparation that builds anticipation. 

I can't seem to move past Friday.

My heart has been like a tomb for too long, I say here in this stillness, and I lay my head down and weep into the desk.  

For in this brokenness, I know I believe in death.  But do I still believe in resurrection?

In this tomb of my heart, the words of a song hang in the air full of stench, cry out to the Savior's broken body wrapped in linen cloth there and bathed in spices: 

"I want to know a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn."

And I sit, and I weep, and I wait for hope of resurrection. 

And I hear my Savior calling from the cross, from the grave, inside this tomb of heart, as I read the words of another:

“For you. For all your regrets and for all your impossibles, for all that will never be and for all that once was, for all that you can’t make right and for all that you got wrong, for your Judas failures and your Peter denials and your Lazarus griefs, I offer to take the nails, the sharp edge of everything, and offer you myself because I want you, to take you, you in your wild grief, you in your anger and your disappointment and your wounds and your not-yet-there, you, just as you are, not some improved version of you, but you – I came for you, to hold you, to carry you, to save you.”

His body, it lays still now, but I know on the third day, he rises.  He rises from brokenness I will never have to know in my own body or heart and floods the tomb with life, opens his arms wide and looks me in the eyes, calling "You."  If he can rise from all that, surely, he can raise this dead in me back to life.  This dead in you.  This dead in us. 

Oh.  Savior, come.  Come with your song that rises from ashes of broken.  Come. 

Linking up with Lisa Jo and the Five-Minute Friday community - on Saturday, as has become my new normal lately. 


  1. Thank you for sharing your heart with us. I am so thankful that Jesus calls us just as we are. Have a blessed Easter celebrating our risen Savior .

  2. Sorry you are going through such a low time right now. I will pray for you, especially that your heart will feel the joy of the resurrection tomorrow.

    (BTW, I seem to be late on the FMF a whole lot lately too. Maybe Saturday our brains are just more clear. :))

    1. Thank you, Sara. I did feel the joy of the resurrection today, and it was a breath of fresh air to my soul. I love this man, Jesus. And I think you're right - my brain for sure seems to be more clear on Saturday ;-)

  3. I love that song, "Worn," and those lines that you posted are poignant. Beauty for ashes is what He promises, but so often the promise seems elusive.

    Thanks be to Him that He has made all things new, and we can trust that beauty will come -- some day -- from all the ashes, because He has Risen, indeed!

    Visiting from FMF.

    Selena @

    1. Amen to your beautiful words of truth here! Thanks for the visit.