Clutching the Broken Cup

In the car after church one Sunday, my ten-year old showed me the Styrofoam cup she had colored in class that day.  The inside of her cup was colored blue and the outside had a heart on it.  “This is because Jesus is loving and He offers us living water.” She explained.  The cup even had a little yarn tied to the top to make it look like a bucket to lower into the well.  She had worked very hard on that cup.  She then proceeded to tell me the entire story of the Samaritan woman at the well.  I could tell that she had listened carefully to the story and was proud of the craft she had made to go along with it.

Enter my unpredictable driving.  As I turned the corner rather sharply, Alexis allowed her body to be thrown to the right.  She had a seat belt on, but when you are sitting in the middle of the back seat with no one around you, it’s easy to let your body roll with the cars movements.  I don’t know how safe it is, but apparently it’s fun because she does it a lot.

This time however, she accidentally landed right on her little bucket and we all heard a slight snap as the weak Styrofoam cracked. 

Oh no!  I knew that with her red-headed temper, this little accident could escalate into her ripping the cup to bits or throwing it out the window in dismay. 

“Hand me the cup.”  I said kindly with my eyes on the road, but my hand reaching back.  “Let me see if I can fix it.”

“You can’t!”  She proclaimed. 

“Let me just have it for a minute.” I begged.  I wasn’t sure how bad the damage already was, but I was trying to save the little cup from her frustrated hands that might do even more harm.

She refused to hand it over.

I didn’t force her. 

I wonder how often I do something similar with my heart.  Something happens that hurts it and the Lord asks me to give it to Him, but I refuse.  I won’t hand it over to Him for unknown reasons—probably lack of trust.  He is longing to protect it, but I won’t give it to Him.  Maybe I even wonder in agony why He doesn’t fix it from where He is or maybe I blame Him for allowing the original fracture to begin with. 

In anger, I hold onto the injured vessel and cry.  I refuse to give up control. 

“You can’t fix it.”  My daughter tells me insistently. 

But I can protect it from further damage if you give it to me.  I think to myself.

Silence fills the car.

Alexis clutches her broken cup.

I cradle my own sadness. 

My mind sifts through a few things I am holding on to—things in my life that are broken, things I should hand over to God for protection, but instead, I cling to them in sadness and frustration. 

Meanwhile, God is patiently waiting, longing to heal me, comfort me, hold my heart—if I will actually trust Him. 

Proverbs 3:5

5 Trust in the Lord with all your heart;
    do not depend on your own understanding.