God pieces broken people back together

A lettered quote from DaySpring contributing writer Dawn Camp that reads,

On an ordinary December day, on what would’ve been our oldest daughter’s 29th birthday, our pipes backed up, flooding our bedroom and bathroom. The damage appeared minimal at first as I switched out wet towels for dry ones, but by evening, our bedroom floor began to bubble.

Surely everything would dry and settle again, not another setback during the most tragic year of our lives.

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When the demolition crew removed the tile from our bathroom and boards from our bedroom floor, they realized the problem extended beyond their initial predictions. They couldn’t scoot our bed aside; they needed to move it to my office. They sealed off our room with plastic sheeting and tape, like a movie scene, and hung a “Danger: Microbial Hazard” sign from our bedroom door.

Ever since our oldest daughter’s death last summer, and since gaining custody of her three young children, our bedroom and bathroom have been my small sanctuary—a place where I can find stray moments of peace or cry in my closet, undisturbed.

Losing access to our bedroom for six weeks was more than inconvenient; it was brutal heading into the Christmas season when we were hosting holiday celebrations and birthday parties. My office sits beside the front door and, as a bedroom, it has zero privacy. Six of us, including the grandkids, shared a bathroom. Despite the surprising coziness of our bedroom/office, I felt raw and exposed.

Workers stripped our bedroom and bathroom to their foundations and rebuilt them, piece by piece. Day by day, grout filled the gaps and strong boards replaced the weak, warped ones. They hauled away our old whirlpool tub and replaced it with a shiny new soaking tub.

But no matter how many busted and broken things the demolition crew hauled away, how hard they tried to protect our surfaces or how often we dusted and swept, the sawdust, tile dust, dirt and whatever else stirred up remained. It worked its way around the door into our closet, settling on the floor, our shoes and our clothes.

Before the crew finished laying the new hardwood in our bedroom and sealing the bathroom grout, our dogs slipped past the barrier and peed on both floors. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry: despite our best efforts, nothing remains undefiled.

We’ve settled in again, although I haven’t emptied the last boxes or rehung all the pictures. On Mother’s Day, I pulled my late mother’s necklace from my jewelry box, the one she wore when I was a child. It hung from my neck at church where I held my three-year-old grandson, my oldest daughter’s son, in my lap. Sometimes he traces a scar that runs down my arm. My body is a broken bridge connecting us to his mother and mine—two women who should be sitting in the pew beside us.

The past two years have broken me, yet I’ve never lived as authentically—less people-pleasing, more take-me-or-leave-me. I cringe when people tell me I’m doing a great job with our grandchildren or that I’m the perfect person to raise them after eight children of our own.

I am not who they think I am. Often, I worry about the future and struggle with discontent. I am not who my people need me to be. The world is full of sin, and so am I. Depravity isn’t a theory; it’s the human condition.

Maybe you feel this, too. Can you trace a fractured line between who you are and who you used to be, who you wanted or intended to be? Do you feel unable or unworthy to do what’s expected of you?

The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, And saves such as have a contrite spirit. – Psalm 34:18 NKJV

Don’t despair, friend. You aren’t alone. God pieces broken people back together, reshaping us into something stronger than before. The world needs your plainspoken, vulnerable testimony.

Since our daughter died, I’ve realized that women I’ve known for years have either experienced the death of a sibling or child or were raised by a grandparent. When they tell me their stories, I feel seen. I believe they feel seen, too, in a way unique to those who’ve experienced such loss firsthand.

Tragedy connects people who have nothing else in common. It brings tears and hugs to conversations with people we’ve just met. It leads strangers to support and encourage one another. It builds broken bridges between wounded hearts.

So, too, does God.

A black and white portrait of DaySpring contributing author Dawn Camp.

After homeschooling her eight children, Dawn Camp now devotes her time and love of stories to writing her first novel while raising three of her grandchildren. She enjoys mugs of Earl Grey, Taco Tuesdays, book clubbing, and cheering on the Braves. Dawn and her husband navigate a never-emptying nest in the Atlanta suburbs. Find her work at https://dawncamp.com.