The broken fragments of our days are red and ragged, wet with tears. The job ungained; the love undone; the hard, dull ache of illness in the body or the soul. We see no pattern in the pain; we find no solace in the rain.
But there is One with cosmic grace who sees each piece for what it shows of His uncanny and redeeming power. And in the long, slow masterpiece He builds, He fits the fragments of our hours with skill so great and eye so fine that even we, unlucky we, will call it good, will call it fair. “And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them” (Rom 8:28).
For what we come to call our “faith” will trace what unfaith never sees—that there is meaning in the picture—that what we thought our greatest grief has now become His center stone. God finds a use for every chip; there is no waste in all His artistry. “So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Psa 90:12).
None but the Artist of our lives could make of all our brokenness a fitting temple to His will: mosaics need a long, slow skill. Grace is not finished with us yet: there is more beauty to appear. Another, better day will dawn.
So stay in grace.