He Can't Use It Until He Breaks It

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, my heart emptied of the many tears that had poured forth earlier that day. I had been wounded like I had never been before and I was alone. In grief, I mentally looked at the pieces of the situation that now lay at my feet, shattered and scattered. 

              

                 I felt broken. 

                         I was broken. 

As I lay there, going over this trail of thought, the Holy Spirit reminded me of the story of the woman who broke her precious, expensive alabaster box of ointment to anoint Jesus. 

"After two days was the feast of the passover, and of unleavened bread...And being in Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as He sat at meat, there came a woman having an alabaster box of ointment of spikenard very precious; and she brake the box, and poured it on His head...And Jesus said, Let her alone; why trouble ye her? she hath wrought a good work on me." 

Mark 14:1,3,6  (KJV)

Then a whisper came to my aching heart that I have never forgotten: 

"I can't use it until I break it"

So simple and so true. The valuable box of ointment was useless living inside the sealed box, though I am sure it was a lovely box to look at, however, there was no practical purpose for it. There was a sweetness in the knowledge that the case held value and hope (It has been thought that the value of the box was to be the woman's dowery), but the ointment itself, held no purpose held out of sight in the canister. It was not until the box was broken and the ointment allowed to be poured out, that the real purpose for the precious spikenard was able to be accomplished. 

Laying there that night, what a comfort this was to my bleeding heart. There was purpose in this breaking and through it was going to bring forth fruit that would not have been borne had I stayed "inside the box". There was hope amid the pain; there is always hope! Again and again, in the scriptures, the Lord promises to heal the broken, bind up wounds, be close to the sorrowful, and comfort those that are hurting. 

"For He maketh sore, and bindeth up: He woundeth, and His hands make whole."

Job 5:18

"I have seen his ways, and will heal him: I will lead him also, and restore comforts unto him and to his mourners. I create the fruit of the lips; Peace, peace to him that is far off, and to him that is near, saith the Lord; and I will heal him."

Isaiah 57:18-19

"O Lord my God, I cried unto Thee, and Thou hast healed me."

Psalm 30:2

"He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds."

Psalm 147:3

"Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God." 

2 Corinthians 1:4

"As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you; and ye shall be comforted..."

Isaiah 66:13

"The Lord is night unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit." 

Psalm 34:18

"I, even I, am He that comforteth you..."

Isaiah 51:12a

"Come, let us return unto the Lord: for He hath torn, and He will heal us; He hath smitten, and He will bind us up."

Hosea 6:1

"The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed Me to preach good tidings unto the meek; He hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound...to comfort all that mourn..."

Isaiah 61:1, 2b

Over the last little while, the lines from a hymn have replayed themselves through my mind.

"All I have needed Thy hand hath provided-"

~Great Is Thy Faithfulnes~

What a sovereign Father we have! The pain has a purpose! It is good and it is beautiful in His sight. He has allowed it with intent and that intent is only for our good! Such a precious truth to rest upon. He has promised to use the heartache, the bleeding heart, and the broken piece. Each thread of grief is used to make the weaving of our life more complete, and Lord willing, to mold us more into the image of Christ Himself. 

            "The Weaver"            

by Grant Colfax Tuller

My life is but a weaving betwixt the Lord and me,

I do not choose the color-He worketh steadily.

Oftimes He weaveth sorrow and I in foolish pride,

Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside.

Not till the look is silent, and the shuttle cease to fly

Shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful in the Weaver's skillful hand

As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern

He has planned.