She walked slowly. Carefully. On tippy toes with her arms out to keep her balance. Her bottom lip she bit in with focused determination. She walked inside of every square, every piece of cement. Slowly. Carefully. So that no part of her foot ever touched a crack. One would think she was walking a tightrope and not the sidewalk. Endeavoring to become a ballerina and not to go home.
She rested her small legs and stretched toes on a larger piece of piece of hardened concrete. Looking up just enough, she surveyed the path which awaited her, the distance before she would get where she was hoping to be. She would get there. She would. She had to. She looked down. The sidewalk squares before her were even more broken, there were even more cracks. She sucked in a deep breath. Again finding her balance, she continued on.
And on. And on. For what seemed like hours she stayed positioned between the sidewalk cracks and the endless squares which made up the path ahead. The steps were becoming painful. Her legs were beginning to shake; her muscles started to burn. How come walking around the cracks had to be so hard? Where was the spot to rest? Would her journey always consist of her going over and over the same path of brokenness? Would she always be trying to avoid the cracks?
A fresh tear made its way down her face. She quickly brushed it aside. No one must know how difficult this was. No one must know the pain of avoiding. No one must realize how tired she was of walking around this terrible cracked terrain. Her balance was giving way; she must not pause until it was safe; she must continue on...
So, with outstretched arms and her carefully balanced pose, she began to lift her leg as a means of placing her toes carefully in the next open space. A noise like scraping rocks from behind startled her and she found herself faltering dangerously towards the side of the crack in the sidewalk square. She turned, unsteadily...and saw him.
He was following her. She was confident of this. And with him was a bucket and a trowel. In his bucket was cement. And as slowly and as carefully as each of her steps, he was lifting up cement from his bucket and deliberately, with determination, filling in the broken spaces. The screeching sound of scraping rocks repeated as he smoothed over the newly filled crack.
Still balancing precariously, dangerously, in-between the cracks she could not encounter, she found herself livid. “What are you doing??” screamed her shaking voice, “what are you doing with my cracks?”
He looked up, intentionally, and with piercing eyes and a firm voice answered simply “I am filling them.”
“Why would you fill my cracks? Why would you do that? Do you know how long I have been walking around those cracks? Do you know how many cracks I’ve had to avoid? Do you know how much brokenness I’ve been working between and around? Why would you fill those cracks?”
“Everyday,” he said, “I watch you walk the same path. The same path you know is broken. The same path you know is full of cracks. And I watch you walk it. I watch every day as you maneuver around one slit in the sidewalk to only narrowly miss another...”
“Of course! I must! Can you blame me? Those cracks are dangerous. Those cracks hurt. I cannot touch them; I cannot go to where that brokenness is!”
“Yes. Brokenness is hard. Hard to encounter. Harder to avoid. And you, you are tired. You are tired of walking this cracked and broken path...”
A small sob caught in her throat and she struggled hard to keep the tears pooling at the base of her eyes from making their way down her red cheeks. “Maybe, maybe I am. But no one said you could fill my cracks. These cracks are what I know...”
Her little body started to tremble and her balance was lost and she did everything she could not to fall completely to the ground. The loose tears began to pour down freely. “Look! Look what you’ve made me do! You’ve made me stand on top of one of my cracks. Now I am stuck in the middle of brokenness! I’ll have to start the whole path again. I was doing fine, just fine before you came along!”
His voice was quiet, steady, sure. “You seem to be in the same spot now as before. The only difference appears to be the encounter. The way in which you are now coming to grips with the brokenness that holds you. You now stand on top of it but before you stood trapped between it. Seems to me neither place is fine.”
Her voice quivered with sobs caught in her throat. “I, I, I am so tired. I am in so much pain. And, and my feet...” she looked down at her red, bleeding, and blistered toes. “...if anyone were to see them. They would know. They would know how broken the path is that I’ve walked.” She wanted to defend herself but could not. “Tell me. Just tell me what to do, where to go.”
“Come back.”
The tears stopped pouring down her cheeks and anger returned to her eyes. “Come back? Back to where I’ve already been? Why would I possibly want to yet again come near the brokenness which has gotten me to what I now know; the pain I now feel?”
“Everyday you will encounter cracks, but see where I am in the process of fixing what has been destroyed. Come back to where I am...”
“And what good is it to fill the ones I have already slipped past? Please, if you are going to touch my cracks, go ahead of me. Fix the cracks that still await me so I can get to where I need to be.”
“I am the restorer of all that has been. All that will be. You will always have brokenness before you if we do not first work to heal the brokenness which remains. Everyday you begin with the same brokenness as before and everyday you add to it every new crack. You get no farther on your journey because you are simply trying to avoid every new addition, every new pain – while still maneuvering around the old ones. Join me where I am.”
“Don’t you understand? Don’t you see?” There was desperation in her voice as another tear made its way down her face and her arms rose and then fell as the posture of her body collapsed in resignation. “If I am to be where you are I must spend time in those cracks. I must go back to move forward. I must accept defeat.”
The compassion in his eyes mirrored the pain in her own. “Dear girl, look at the scars left on your feet. Feel the exhaustion in your soul. Is it not time to be made whole? How can you be defeated by something I have already won?”
“But won’t you run out? Won’t your bucket eventually run out of fresh cement? Can you always be filling in my cracks? What about when my brokenness becomes too much for you to continually fix?”
With this he put down his trowel and stood. “Daughter, my grace is sufficient for you. My ability to care for you is made perfect in your weakness. I am the one who sustains you, carries you. I will never run out of what it takes to heal. Come near to me, I will come near to you.”
The fear was gripping. But the invitation arresting. She took one shaky step forward, back to where her deepest cracks were already beginning to look whole and new. And that was all it took. She found herself collapsing into strong arms which lifted her up and held her tight. She rested in his grasp with her head upon his shoulder.
“Look up. Look around.” He whispered into her ear. And she did. “See how I make all things new?” She was seeing...
She surveyed the expanse and realized she was no longer afraid of the cracks before her. The ones which she knew would still be part of her days because the journey was in midst of brokenness she did not create and could not control. But she could face the new cracks for she was with the restorer of all that was. The one who was sustaining and carrying. For the first time in many days, she allowed herself to just breathe.
“My precious girl, see where how the brokenness you have been trying to avoid has brought you exactly to my embrace, exactly to where you need to be...”
