Broken

Sometimes things just break. 

You find yourself staring at them, wondering if they're really worth fixing.

As of Wednesday, the place above my dashboard is empty.  The small wooden cross that once dangled there has moved to my counter top.   And I'm wondering.. if it's worth putting back together.

It's those moments.  When anger is pouring out of you like lava.  It's anger and hurt and sorrow winding together, pouring fourth, escaping the maelstrom that has built up inside of you.

Just emotional noise. No one is saying much of anything.  You're just...feeling.  Out loud.

And another voice joins and the noise gets louder.  And you're both just....feeling.  Feeling against each other.  Out loud.  And the rain drops outside do nothing to counter the explosion inside.

And things break.

It's a jerky movement, blinded by tears and pain and fear.  A quick, sharp reaction.  A sudden stop and a crumbling.  It's you on your knees, so confused, so overwhelmed.  Lost.


And suddenly the car was parked.  One of us was standing in the rain to cool off.  One of us was crumbling into the steering wheel.  And between us lay a broken cross.  An accidental crossfire when
one hand jabbed at the hazard lights.  An innocent casualty in an unintended war of noise.


Eventually the storm slows, and the torrent of rain turns to a soft patter.  And broken people begin to patch the wounds of those they love.  Wounds that, often, were their own doing. 


An hour later, we sat on our bed together.  Feeling the peace of Grace from an ever patient Father and the safety of sure arms holding you together. 

Slowly we repair, with a little silence and gorilla glue.