Her words are spoken from a painful journey of watching the well become sick, fit turning into the unfit, complete into the incomplete. Her mother is slowly dying. With the light of eternal hope sparkling through the ache of the broken, she looked at me and breathed beautiful words. Life-giving words. Words that transcend a dying now: "Our world is broken," she stated, "But our God is not broken." The syllables seemed to hang in the air: our. God. is. not. broken!
How often do we really stop to process this grand reality? No matter the hurt that this world creates, our God is bigger than it all. Our God is the God of the whole, of the complete. Ever since the fall of mankind, He has gone about the process of restoring His creation, of raising it from the shattered and unifying it into a beautiful oneness. For every part of us - every part of me - that still lies in disrepair, God is already aware of its existence and wants to redeem it. He wants to make it whole. This separating of the two worlds is what makes me hope in the midst of great tragedy. We may live in the dead and dying but can believe in what is alive. In Who is alive. Because that is what raises us above the pain around us. The pain in us. God receives the broken. God infuses His wholeness into them - into me - and brings a new beginning to that which is fallen.