The shelf in my laundry room is one of my favorite parts of our house. On it is a farm picture of Chris’s great-grandpa and his grandpa—evidence of the farm-life gene in him—as well as some field cotton in a jar, evidence of the cotton fields I lived near as a child in the Piedmont of North Carolina.
This shelf also holds brokenness.
Two things, right now.
There is a teacup I found on our farm. Remarkably, it had been buried in the dirt, broken into three pieces.
And there is an owl, his tail recently broken off—a failed flight from a windowsill.
But in this second picture, if you look closely, you will see a little pile of red dust.
Since December, day after day, I have wiped this dust away.
And yet it comes back. It seems determined to stay.
Just like the sin in me. I don't like it. It is frustrating, and even discouraging at times—thoughts run through my mind like, I want to be so over that!
But like you, I am human. I am a people.
Isn’t it encouraging to know that Paul knew this feeling?
In Romans 7, he describes the battle within himself—the very thing he hates, he finds himself doing. And then he cries out:
“Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”
And then, almost like an answer to his own cry:
“Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:24-25)
We are broken people living in a broken world. And no matter how much we wish it weren't so, the evidence of our brokenness keeps showing up—over and over again. Pride, selfishness, impatience, and unkindness pile up like dust. A wandering heart and a desire to be seen, right, and in control.
We wipe it away by confessing it, repenting of it—and then, somehow, there it is again.
The red dust.
This dust is grace, the strange gift of our brokenness: it shows us Jesus. Because I cannot look honestly at myself without realizing how desperately I need Him.
I need the One who has already paid for my sins, the One who cleanses me when I confess them. And the One who does not turn away from me when the evidence of my brokenness shows up again.
Jesus is patient with me as He makes me more like Himself.
The red dust reminds me that I am not yet whole.
It reminds me where I came from and that Jesus is not finished with me.
One day, there will be no more dust. No more broken pieces. No more failed flights. No more sin showing up day after day.
One day, Jesus will make me whole. And on that day, He will not have to wipe the dust away anymore.
Because there will be no dust left—Only Him. Only Jesus.
The Scripture gives us a glimpse of that day:
“Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people... He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore...”
And then comes the promise:
“Behold, I am making all things new.” (Revelation 21:3–5)
This little red dust reminds me that I am broken.
But even more than that, it reminds me that I have a Savior who is making broken things whole.
❤️ Meghan
“But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our bodies.” (2 Corinthians 4:7-10)