I was house-sitting for my friend Jose while he was out of town. I accidentally knocked over an ornate clock he had received as a gift. It hit the hardwood floor and broke into dozens of pieces. My friend is quite handy and tried to glue the clock back together after determining where each piece belonged. It looked similar to its original condition, but never quite the same. Jose told me that he has knocked it down several times since then. Each time he carefully picks up the pieces and attempts reconstruction, but each time it looks a little less like the original ornate clock, although — miraculously — it does still tell time.
As I serve in Lima, I feel like that clock. Jose could have put the clock somewhere safer. If he had, it wouldn’t have fallen down so many times. It would look nicer. When I ask him why he doesn’t move it, he says he likes it where it is. That is God’s answer when I ask Him why He doesn’t put me somewhere safer, somewhere I won’t fall down and break. He likes me where I am and will glue me together every time I break. Serving means breaking into dozens of pieces and letting God put the pieces back together.
It didn’t take me long to ditch the idealistic view of service I once held. When service means walking alongside people, it will never be pain free. With each day, I find myself slightly more broken as I serve, resembling less the person I was before walking the streets of Lima with my friends who suffer. Each time something goes wrong and serving here hurts deeply, I want God to do a better job of putting the pieces back together. I want them to fit together how they did before. They don’t go back together, though. There are cracks and holes that aren’t mended. My heart breaks. I want to pretend that children aren’t neglected, that our friends aren’t addicted, that diseases have never threatened the lives of people I love. Instead of turning away, God asks me to walk with my friends who are neglected, addicted and suffering, knowing that I will be broken as I travel this road.
Usually I don’t understand God’s art. Honestly, I don’t really understand art in general. What I do know is that everyone’s eyes see beauty in different things. Every step of my journey is toward trusting that, in God’s eyes, my beauty is not in being free of cracks and holes. It is in embracing them and trusting God to put back the pieces however He likes. I’m struggling to stop trying to understand what God sees as beauty, and instead to trust that my cracks, leaks and scuffs are all part of God’s art.
Hear my cry, O God;
listen to my prayer.
From the ends of the earth I call to you,
I call as my heart grows faint;
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
(Psalm 61:1-2)
Field administrator is her official role in Lima, but Linsey loves spending time with the young moms and their children who attend WMF’s weekly Bible study. She also enjoys swimming, crossword puzzles, desserts of all kinds and game shows.