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The broken road
I know of a road, one paved with stones and normal ballast. I know of that road full of pools of blood and screams of sorrow, that road filled with sounds of whips and moans of pain. All other roads are neat and well paved, the other road is poorly crafted and ugly to the normal eye, but it does head somewhere. It is only the broken and the tortured souls that find their way there. It is only the battered and the bruised that know how to seek that road. It is they who have seen that they can never walk alone and need a hand to hold that find this road. It is those drunk with hopelessness and defeat that fall panting onto that road. On the broken road we are kings because we have a kingdom to inherit. When I saw the broken road, I didn’t see a yoke, I saw freedom, I never saw defeat, I saw hope. When I lifted my eyes and looked up at Calvary, I did not see the two thieves, I saw the owner of the road and I felt whatever bound my heart falling off. When I got onto the broken road, I heard the chain snap and I heard a voice speak and my heart took a rest. I knew I would win, albeit temporarily on the other road, but why win the trophy and lose the purpose? It took me a broken heart to find a broken road. It took me a broken leg and a broken arm to find healing, for if I was never sick I would never have sought a physician. If I had never lost in the school of life I would never have sought a teacher. It is in the broken road that the dead find life and the broken find purpose. Not much is called for but just the audacity to believe and the patience to wait. I had lost the war. I had lost all sense of purpose. Why was I even fighting? Why was I trying to pull everything together even when it was falling apart? The questions tortured me, father, they mauled me in the day and ate me up in the night. I did quit, father, I did. Wipe my tears away, and help me up again. Lead me, your blind son to the road, and I shall claw the rest of the way to where you are. Show me the shrubs and the bushes and I shall teach myself to grasp and grab around till your glory opens my eyes. I want not healing, I need you the healer. I ignored the broken road, but now, thank you for the second chance, and thank you for the freedom. Someday I shall tell Jesus, that when I was young I believed Again.

                              I’m free, praise the Lord, free at last.
                                                    Gaither

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