Shatter me Fragrant

For the Mender of the break, Jesus, and for the one who stood with me as it shattered.

" And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to dwell in." Isaiah 58:12

The speaker in chapel put this verse up on his final slide today. It shook me to the core, but not because of anything specific in his presentation. No, the verse shook me because yesterday I was reminded of being broken and very swiftly repaired.

Story time.
Before I start this story, you should know two things: 1) We began our lunch with an expensive bottle of wine sitting between us as advertisement for a charity, 2) When we left, the bottle and its contents were in an entirely different place.

Yesterday I spent a couple of hours with one of my favorite people in the world. I let down the guard, opened the lock, I did one of my favorite things in the world, I listened.
We listened together as our waitress spoke freely to us, we told her we'd pray for her as she made big life decisions, and as she wasn't feeling well. We ate, we talked, we listened, we learned, we loved, we just were.
When we finished, we took a few pictures.
Becs had moved the wine bottle from between us and put it on the table beside us, which was unoccupied. I got up from my chair and it moved, so I asked Becs to hold it, and my hand brushed the table next to me as I rose. Before I knew what was I happening, everyone of my senses was engaged, first, my hand brushed something, then, the sound of breaking glass, then the sight of deep red in a pool a couple of feet in all directions, then the smell of rich grapes mingled with the floor, coupled with a tiny sting on my tongue from the scent, and the tears I was swallowing back. Then, I heard talking. The waitress, who now knows me by name, told me not to walk forward, but backwards. I didn't care about anything else but Becs, and I snapped out of my sensory overload to ask if she'd been hurt as the bottle fell, I couldn't seem to think of anything else.
She told me no, and asked the same of me, but I didn't answer her, I asked the waitress if she was going to get in trouble, and if I could pay for the broken bottle of wine.
It all happened so fast, and Becs kept telling me to hang on to her, and at least three times she asked if I had any glass on me.

Overwhelmed, I looked at what had just happened. I was surrounded by glass. Beside me on one side was this precious little sister God gave me, and in front, the sweet waitress.
Glass and deep red in all directions. I am fairly certain given the way that bottle fell, there is no human explanation for why my feet, which were largely exposed, were not sliced multiple times by beautiful glass, or even soaked in wine.
No, the glass and wine sprayed in all directions in a useless but unharmed place, the floor.
I drew a breath and Becs got me away without looking back, she told me a story and we were outside before I knew it.
She let me into the car and came around. For about 10 seconds nobody said anything, but she turned herself to look me square in the eyes while I stifled the ache deep in my heart. I'm not the most coordinated...and sometimes stuff happens. She looked at me. Nobody said a thing. But, I'll tell you how the conversation went:
She gave me an intense look, behind it was a love that would've been cheapened by a word.
If I love someone, I say it, because I've had people die, and so I say it, but, I'll tell you, I believe love is active. It's a verb, and in loving some people, I am tempted not to say it so much, because as much as I love words, and as much as I use them to convey vivid pictures, sometimes, not saying those words says more than a million words could ever say.
Her eyes said "Do you see this? This means I know that hurt you, but I love you, I do, and I love you as you are." She took a breath and opened her arms, put her head on my shoulder and told me she had a wonderful time. Then, she pulled a package from the backseat.
"I have a present for you" she said gently. I knew immediately what I was holding, and I chuckled.
Inside was one of the most practical, precious, and personal gifts I've received in a very long time, and one I will treasure for an even longer time. It doesn't matter what it was, what matters is that it means the world to me.
I'm a girl who gets great joy, and attaches significance to the small things, sometimes, they have been all I had.
A note left at my carrel, a note on the hot tamale while I'm in class, the other day it was a loaf of homemade bread. As I sat there with that very personal gift on my lap, I thought back to the the wine covered floor, and the blood covered cross on a tear stained Calvary.
Jesus, much like that wine bottle, was shattered, and broken, and emptied in all directions, for me.
The pain, the glass, the stripes, that should've been mine, fell upon His back and He had no second thoughts about dying for that little blue eyed girl who came into the world at 11:52PM at the close of a South Texas Wednesday. He had no second thoughts about that girl no medical professional was willing to give a chance.

And, as the first 8 minutes of her life passed, so did the final 8 minutes of the day she was born.
The date changed, and the God of all things had a plan, and His plan involved that little girl.
25 years later on another Wednesday, the Everlasting God showed that little girl His face in a most uncanny and abstract way. With her little sister beside her, He watched as glass shattered around her feet and did not touch her, or the dear gift He had given her. "Nothing touches you."
I heard those words again. That statement came after dinner with a dear friend one evening. He said "Your life is so incredibly covered, more than anyone I've ever known. God Himself makes His fierce love for you so evident in that so many things may come near you, but they may only come so near, and no more."

Sitting with that gift on my lap, I thought about how God allows my life to flourish and thrive, in spite of what people said previously.
Dreaming, thriving, loving, moving, breaking bottles and coming out whole.
I walked out of that restaurant with Becs, and the memory of a broken bottle.
My heart broke and mended several times in that instant.
I thought maybe I'd embarrassed her, and I felt small.
Poor Becs...she had to see that... I stopped. I realized she had seen much more than a broken bottle of wine, she had seen my heart, she had seen, I hoped, the fragrance emerging from my love, life and heart, like the wine as the bottle broke.

I realized I didn't want to be upset about breaking the bottle, but rather, I wanted to learn from it.
I prayed all evening that my life would be a fragrant offering of Christ, and cover the floor in all directions...
I kept hearing her voice "Hang on, do you have glass on you? Are you ok? Don't let go, and don't step on it. It's ok, Courtney, don't even worry about it, it's ok, this stuff happens all the time."

When we exited that building, we exited together, arm in arm, and the period of silence after the car doors were closed taught me a lesson I will not soon forget about the fact that who I am, bottle breaker and all, is cherished, and changing lives.
I have no doubt that the Lord uses those who are most willing to break as His most continual vessels, and my only prayer is that when He shatters me, the result is sweet and fragrant.

....Mended,
Courtney