My three-year old whirlwind came barreling into my bathroom, panic stricken. Mommy! Mommy! I can’t find it. I can’t find the wheels. I so sorry. I so sorry I broke it.
Chubby fingers revealed the broken portion of a Christmas ornament. Santa and a teddy bear in a Model-T. It was the third casualty since our tree went up the night before. I could see his remorse. But this one? This ornament?
Within its cheap plastic were twenty years of prayers for Lymel, a boy living in the New Orleans projects. A boy I met as a teen on a mission trip. I had sent him the same ornament. Mine has since hung each year in the green pine boughs of my Christmas tree, a reminder to pray for Lymel —the sweet boy from our broken world…
I’m thrilled and humbled to again be invited as a guest blogger for LifeWay Women today. Head on over and read more about why Christmas is for the broken by clicking here.