Friends were almost here. You could smell stuffed shells bubbling in the oven, fresh bread ready for slicing. They were bringing the salad. The table was set with Italian pasta bowls, red cloth napkins, and my favorite farm-stenciled goblets . . . until I broke one adding the centerpiece, glass and water all over.

They walked in, arms full of Greek salad, smiling white daisies, and homebaked brownies. The mood was clearly excitement to finally be back together in a homey setting. Hospitality was never a gift of mine during our early years of marriage. It’s only been the last few that I’ve come to embrace it. Sanctification works that way.

Retiring to the basement for doubles ping-pong proved fun and games can be as satisfying as coffee and dessert. Until the last game, just before goodbyes, when my foot turned, and my world turned, and bone broke.

There was no standing on that leg. The femoral neck snapped right there where hip met tile floor. This is what disciples of Christ are taught to prepare for. Trial, loss, distress is a central part of the gospel. Suffering plays a significant roll in God’s plan, and in our affluent culture we forget that.

Two months before the fall I had written this in chapter 8 of my latest book: “Christian, have you ever felt crushed? Have you been shattered in such a way it made you more like Christ? You’re in good Hands.” Those words seemed easy enough at the time . . . but now.

They carried me, all hundred and fifty-five pounds of me to the softest surface. She prayed her heart out over my shaking frame. Husbands rushed for emergency help—those men in black with strong legs, arms, and transport tarp. I’ve never broken a bone before. I’ve never had surgery. It was a night of firsts and lasts.

“What glory could possibly come from one women’s mangled bone?” I asked the Lord more than a week ago. Today, staples in my skin, still peeling EKG stickers from my chest—I heard the words of the centurion whose servant was sick and ready to die: “Lord, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof.” Tears rose, heart broke, and I questioned—who am I Lord? Why, just the other day I thought myself better than that sinner, spoke evil of the one I hadn’t forgiven, and covertly been boasting in wisdom You gave me. Who am I that the Lord should speak a word and heal His servant?

It can seem uncomplicated—the difference between good and evil. But honestly . . . it takes suffering to manifest. No marred human becomes who they are created to be without being crushed on the Potter’s wheel, and remade into another vessel.

Listen to our sister, Joni Eareckson Tada:

“Where would I be were it not for the awful, heavy afflictions God has brought my way? Where would we all be without our sufferings? I’ll tell you where we’d be . . . we’d all be spoiled brats. Cuz it’s human to whine and want an easier life. But when afflictions back us up against a spiritual wall, we ain’t got no where else to go. You gotta yield. And then, God prunes us, cuts us, carves us out, molds us, files, and sandpapers us and makes us pliable clay, smooth, and bendable in the loving hands of the Potter. Psalm 119:71 says this, ‘It is gooood for me that I have been afflicted, that I may learn Your statutes.’ When we learn His decrees and His ways, especially His ways with trials, we become the people He intended us to be long before the foundation of the world.”

At the crux of every broken bone, every broken heart, every broken . . . is another opportunity to become closer to whole. It’s the way we are reshaped in Christ.

Physical therapy begins next week—yet, spiritual rehab always begins the moment we lose all power to stand.

“For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory…” (2 Cor 4:17)

Let’s pray:

Heavenly Father, You are King, Lord, Master of all. Thank You for undeserved grace as You carefully uncover our offenses against You—as You conform us into the image of Your beloved Son. Help us to love knowledge and correction. Strengthen us. Give us the manna we need, just for the day, to love and obey as Your holiness deserves. Thank you for bearing my sin upon the cross, that I might spend everlasting life in Your glorious presence. Amen.