I am a Broken Glass

I am a broken glass. And I’m broken not because someone accidently dropped me. I’m broken because I willingly and stubbornly crept to the edge of the cupboard and jumped to the ground. I thought I could fly, and for a moment I was flying. I know I was flying because I could feel the wind rustling against me. It felt so good. I was free of that dusty old cupboard. My parents had always told me not to get too close to the edge, it’s not safe, but I hadn’t listened and I was happy I hadn’t listened. 

Then I found out I could only fall. I was going down, down, down and couldn’t stop. I screamed and tried to go back to my safe place on the cupboard shelf.

But it was too late.

I fell.

I shattered.

There I lay on the ground. My beautiful crystal lay all over the floor tiles. I don’t know how long I lay on that cold floor. I wished I could pull myself back to the way I was so I could climb into a hole and no one would be able to see what I had done. If I had listened to my parents I wouldn’t be where I was. I longed for the cabinet I had once desired to leave.

Then I heard footsteps coming down the hallway. I wanted to be anywhere else.

The door opened with a creak. In came a Man. He looked down at my broken glass. I burned in shame. He gently knelt down to me and said in a gentle voice, “Why are you on the floor?”

“I hated the cupboard and I thought I would be free.” I answered in a small voice.

“Didn’t your parents warn you not to go too close to the edge?”

“Yes,”

“Why didn’t you listen?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“How did you get to the floor?”

“I went to the edge of the shelf and jumped.”

“Would you like to be put back together?” He asked.

“I don’t see how.”

“All you have to do is ask.”

I took a deep breath and looked into His eyes, full of compassion. “Please, will you put me back together?”

He didn’t say a word. With great care He picked up all my pieces and set them on the counter. He took out the broom and swept up all the little ones that had moved into the floor boards. Then He took out the some glue and began to put me together.

When He was finished His hands were bleeding from my sharp edges. I had lines from where the glue held my pieces and I was not nearly as beautiful as I has I had been before.

“I look terrible.” I said.

He held up His hands, cut and bloody. “But you are healed. I could have melted you in the fire furnace and made you new. Then my hands would not be cut. But if I had done that you would not remember what happened nor how I restored you.”

“Will I always look like this?” I asked in dismay.

“No, one day I will put you in the fire furnace and make you pure glass again. But until that time comes you must remember what you have done and what I have done to save you.” With that He gently put me back into the cupboard. I heard His footsteps as he walked away. I am very grateful for my Saviour. He bled for me so that I could be whole and one day He will restore me to a perfect glass but until then I will remember the blood spit to make me whole.