I was having breakfast with a friend this morning. We talked a lot about baseball, raising kids, life. Eventually, we had to make it around to the awkward topic of my journey, the war that I’m currently waging, as I fight my way closer to being the man God designed me to be. As we were chatting, my friend posed a thoughtful question to me. Likely intending it to be hypothetical.

“Why is it that we have to be broken to be used by God?”

I didn’t even hesitate in responding. Because I know. If we have any other path, any other hope, any other semblance of a plan that we think will work, we won’t rest in God. We won’t trust Him. We will do it our way. Before I could help myself, I wandered into a lengthy analogy, which I would like to share here. I think it explains fairly well why we must be broken before God can actually work with us.

Say you have a car. And let’s say that car has lots of things wrong with it. Dents along the bumpers. A door that won’t open from the outside. A busted headlight. Screeching brakes. A cracked windshield. Despite all these defects, these imperfections, we can still drive the car. And many of us do. It’s not running perfectly, but if we’re trying to avoid the expense or the inconvenience of having it professionally repaired, we can limp along with it for months or years.

broken carIt’s not until the transmission falls out of the bottom of it that we actually get help. It’s not until we are on the side of the road, broken down, with literally no other option than to call the mechanic and beg for his divine intervention.

It’s the same with God. We will walk, limp, crawl, drag ourselves forward. It’s not until we are broken, desperate and left on the roadside of life that most of us turn our eyes to God and say, “Ok, have thy will and thy way with me.”

That’s me. I was driving a wreck of a life. The headlights were out, the brakes were shot, my tires worn down to the wires. I was driving in the pitch black into oncoming traffic, not knowing where I was even trying to go. It was storming, and I had no windshield wipers. The winds were blowing, and I had no power steering. And yet, I just kept pushing the gas. Gripping the wheel. Driving.

It wasn’t until I hit the wall, or whatever it was, that I finally stopped. When I couldn’t go further. When it was literally impossible for me to do this on my own. The mechanic showed up. Answered my prayer. And began to restore me so I could fly down the road like a finely tuned machine on the way to a far better place.

I’m broken. But I’m beautifully made. And finally, I get to find out what that feels like, and what God wants to do with me. Amen!