I gasped, and stared, horrified, at the broken bits and pieces on the floor near my feet. The pieces blurred and shimmered through my tears.
I felt His hand stroke my hair. “Hush,” He soothed. He sat on the floor and patted the spot next to Him, motioning for me to join Him.
One by one, He picked up the pieces. I watched, silent, as He reached in His pocket and produced a little bottle. “What’s that?” I asked, curious.
“Watch,” He said.
He picked up a piece, applied some of the liquid in the bottle to the edge, picked up another piece, and joined them together. Patiently, silently, He did that for what seemed like ages.
He held the finished product in His hands. I stared. “Some of the pieces are missing.”
“Yes,” He said.
“It’s not the same.”
“No,” He replied.
I stared. “It’s kind of pretty, though.”
“It is, isn’t it?” He agreed. He stood, and placed His handiwork on a shelf.
“Can I hold it?”
“When you’re ready. But the glue never dries, just so you know.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“So that each time you hold it, it won’t break again, but it will change shape. It’s flexible.”
“That’s some special glue. What’s in it?”
“Faith, Hope, and Tears. It’s what I always use to fix broken dreams.”
“How will I know when I’m ready to hold it again?”
“You’ll know,” He said. “When it becomes as beautiful to you as it was before it was broken, you’ll know.”
He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on my head, and left.