All Your Random Pieces

 The show is talking about a devastating fire that took out a much-loved cafe that had been the heartbeat of the community for more than 30 years. The co-host remembers when the building first went up. He's lived near it for years. He even recalls bringing the host to lunch there when they first began working together. Now, all that remains is a heap of ash and shattered memories and one singed wall still standing. The guys' plan is ambitious: get the cafe rebuilt in three months, bigger and better than before, so it can begin to serve the community once again and get back on its feet. The co-host is a contractor. He has the crew and the drive to get this done. But he's going to take an interesting route to get there... one via a barn near a famous battlefield. 

The scene shifts, and the two men are now walking the battlefield of Antietam. To this day, this one day Civil War battle remains the bloodiest and deadliest singular battle in United States history. As the co-host puts his history buff knowledge to use and describes what happened there, he says that the barn timbers that will be used to rebuild the cafe will be taken from a private barn near here. In all likelihood, that barn that is now on its final leg witnessed tired, wounded soldiers take refuge in its walls. It has seen a lot. And it seems the perfect choice to get a second life as part of this new build several states away. The trusty crew carefully dissembles the barn and it makes its journey to its new home - pieces being salvaged to help create something new. 

As I watch, I can see it now: this is a picture of the journey of life after tragedy and loss of any kind. When you have been dealt a devastating blow... when your world feels like the ash-heap of that cafe and you're left to pick out the tiniest things that didn't fully burn... when you're wondering how you'll start over or what the future holds... when the loss is enough to crush you and you can't dream of a better tomorrow... there comes this choice to all of us as to what we'll do with all the random pieces. Will we gather them together and reuse them to tell a story? Or will we walk away and simply try to forget? 

The decision to leave is easy. The one to rebuild is brave. And those who decide to take their broken remnants do the hard yet refining thing: to declare that the story isn't over... just simply paused. 

By the end of the program, the new build looks incredible. As much as possible, the contractor has tried to honor the past by bringing in elements of its old style - a nod to what was - while still forging a fresh look that points ahead to what will be in the future. And the metaphor could not be stronger: there is a way to honor the past and acknowledge where you've been and yet turn your face toward what's to come and resolve to take the pieces of your pain with you and turn them into a mosaic of beauty. The builders didn't go and select all new materials to rebuild the cafe - the took an old barn that most had already given up on. They chose something that had witnessed war - a tragedy all its own. And a place that had possibly given shelter to the bleeding warriors from the battlefield would now be a space of healing for the wounded hearts of a community that had lost so much. It's pieces being used to write a new chapter. 

God is in the business of making all things new (Rev. 21:5) and beautiful in His time (Ecc. 3:11). Yes, it may take some time but this redemption story is what He does best. And He's in the process all the time of taking these random pieces of our old selves, our old lives and turning them into something that gives glory to Him and the work He has done. In His eyes, the past is only a stepping stone into something better, and He doesn't want us to throw our stories away and declare them over when He's capable of using them for so much more than we ever dream! 

I know sometimes the random pieces of pain are unsightly and uncomfortable. I know it's hard to sift through the rubble and try to dream of better days to come. I know the temptation to just give up feels so real and logical. But I also know that redemptive blessings come to those who dare to believe that God is up to something more. That contractor took the last remaining scorched wall and turned into a new sign when you walk into the rebuilt cafe - an indication that the business has a story, and you're welcome to ask but also that it's moving forward and the community has risen from the ashes stronger and better than before. 

That can be you, dear friend. Whatever you're facing, this doesn't have to be the end. This can be the middle of something far more complex and beautiful that God is creating in your life, however hard it feels now. This is your pause between the then, the now, and the yet-to-be. A pause that still can do great things if you'll simply lean into it and trust the One guiding it from start to finish. He who began the work will faithfully complete it (Phil. 1:6), just like the contractor. What appears to be your worst day will one day be a time you look back and tell the tale of how you survived - something you can be proud of. But even more, something that's a testament to the grace of Him who collects all our pieces and gives them new life.