Sometimes you think that you have been broken enough. You wear your scars as badges, medals of Honor that show just how much you have been through pain and just how much you have or are overcoming; what testimonies are made of. But sometimes, you realize that you are not even half-way on the road to breaking, and all you have is a sprained finger or a broken nail. Other parts are yet to be broken; you are yet to feel true pain; you are yet to know pain beyond comprehension. But you relate with Job so much, you don’t think it could possibly get ‘worse’.
It’s easy to pray, “Lord break me” until you are actually broken; until you have tried to gather up the pieces and glue them together in a refurbished package (all improved with mini battle scars), clutching at your pieces but they keep cutting deeper until you lay them down; until you have nothing else to give but that brokenness; until you have no words but tears and not even your closest of friends can understand the mumbling beneath your breath, trying to explain where you are at; until God is all you have – not just in words, but

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