I’ve had this little furniture set on my back porch for many years. She’s nothing fancy, but lately, the faux rattan on the arms has been breaking and fraying. Still, the rest of the frame is in perfectly good condition.

In my frugality, I just couldn’t bring myself to trash the whole set and start over when I knew it could last just a little bit longer with some care.

​While wrapping the arms with protective tape this morning, my mind became a whirlwind of thoughts, as it so often does. Around me, the cicadas were singing the loud, heavy songs of summer in the trees, and the birds had finally settled from their early morning banter. It was the perfect kind of quiet for listening.

​The Lord has been working on me lately—as He often does with all of us, if we only allow it. I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t always listened. There are seasons and broken pieces of my past that clearly reflect my stubbornness.

​But it seems that every single time I stumble and fall, He is already there waiting with open arms to help me pick up the pieces. And each time I finally take His hand, He leads me further than I ever could have gone on my own.

​Unlike this little porch set, He doesn’t patch my brokenness with duct tape. He doesn’t just bind up the jagged edges and call it a day. Instead, He washes me completely clean, restoring me so deeply that it’s as if my arms had never frayed at all. Where I offer a temporary fix, He offers a permanent transformation.

So this morning, I’ll finish taping up these old chairs, grateful for their steady presence on my porch. But as the cicadas keep singing, I’m even more grateful for a Savior who never leaves me a makeshift work-in-progress—and who isn’t finished with my story yet.