It's bread He holds in His hands as He lifts eyes to heaven on the crowded hillside surrounded by 20,000 people or in the upper room with His special twelve. This bread, this life, this miracle waiting to happen…
After He blesses, He breaks. Because brokenness without blessing makes men destitute and hearts grow cold.
After He blesses, He breaks. Because brokenness without blessing makes men destitute and hearts grow cold.
The blessing always comes before the breaking.
Yet brokenness is not the end of the story.
Blessed bread is broken and given away. And it's in the giving that it's multiplied.
Yet brokenness is not the end of the story.
Blessed bread is broken and given away. And it's in the giving that it's multiplied.
Healing comes through brokenness.
The promise grows to meet our need. Whether twelve or twenty thousand.
Miracles happen. Bread is multiplied. Hearts are fed. But only through torn pieces.
Miracles happen. Bread is multiplied. Hearts are fed. But only through torn pieces.
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I’m blessed and broken, as a token, of a love I can’t deny.
I’m torn in pieces, by my Jesus, the only way to beautify.
Though the pain be bittersweet, This transformation He will complete.
I’m blessed and broken, for only brokenness can heal.
© Glesni Mason, 2013
I marvel. The beauty of brokenness...
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