“Fix it Jesus!” she exclaimed with a slight humor in her voice. The command, a common one in church culture, but really a heart stance.
“Fix the bills, fix my mom, fix my dad, fix the car, fix the man, fix the supervisor, fix it all! I just can’t deal!” She was me. See, I wanted Jesus to fix everything, except fix me. Except he can’t fix my nasty attitude, he can’t fix my rebellious heart, he can’t fix the grudges I hold, he can’t fix my desire and cravings for sin, he can’t fix that, of course not, the issues are them not me.
“Why do you want me to fix anything, when it’s you who is broken.”
God had said this to me in so many ways. He held up the mirror but I wouldn’t look at it. He prophesied through Pastor but I didn’t think it was applicable. He had my friends tell me but I just brushed them off, plus who do they think they are? They got issues too! He used every measure, and every vessel including himself that lived within me but I stopped listening to even that.
It finally took him breaking me to pieces for me to realize I’m not whole. When everything was stripped, and my pride was pruned I finally could see it was me that lacked the glue that kept me connected to the Holy Spirit. It was me that had the missing bolts, and screws that I couldn’t see what the one who took nails for me was saying, “ I don’t want to fix the situation, I want to fix you in this situation. I’m breaking you to pieces so that I may give you my peace. That is how I fix things.”
It’s time to acknowledge the brokenness in you.