A Broken Vessel of Honor

Oct 14, 2015 | by Paula Mosher Wallace | As a victim of childhood rape, I didn’t see how I could ever be a “vessel of honor” for God. As any child who’s been abused, I thought everything was my fault. As the years continued and different types of abuse piled up, I had absolute proof it must be my fault.

I must have been created warped and messed up. Like a child making a clay jar in school, God must have been having a bad day when He designed me. I was misshapen. I couldn’t stand straight. I had holes and bulges. I was incapable of holding anything.

Oh yeah, then I got thrown on the concrete and shattered. No matter how hard I worked to glue the pieces back together, I would never be better than the original misshapen vessel, right? But with cracks and scars…..

I must just be a vessel of dishonor. My role must be to make the vessels of honor look better. I saw others as beautifully crafted by an artist to display God’s glory. They could stand straight, hold water, decorate a palace. I wanted to be that kind of vessel, too. With ALL my heart.

Years of crying out to God didn’t change the brokenness or ugliness. I just seemed to get broken in more ways. The pieces never seemed to line up right when I tried to put them back together. I tried to do more, help more, be more. I cried out for God to make me a vessel of honor!

People who’ve never seen themselves as misshapen and broken, don’t seem to understand the hopelessness of my view. They think God just magically transforms the broken vessel into a beautiful one–like the fairy’s wand did for Cinderella. Instantly, a beautifully carved, gold vessel is where a broken vessel was. All I knew was that this did not happen for me.

One day, I was asking God why, despite all the healing in my life, I still saw myself that way. He gave me a vision that completely changed my perspective.

The vessel was misshapen, broken, and patched back together. It couldn’t stand or hold anything. Many had discarded it as useless and ugly. So it lay on the floor in the corner of a dark room.

Then a set of golden hands picked it up and held it. The hands completely covered and sealed the vessel. I no longer saw the vessel. Instead, I saw beautiful golden hands that radiated light. I watched as the hands tilted the vessel and golden liquid poured out.

The hands chose where, when, and how much liquid was poured. In fact, I forgot about the vessel. All I could see were the glowing hands of gold and the radiant liquid pouring out.

I suddenly realized that it wasn’t about me at all. It didn’t matter how I saw my vessel. I would become a vessel of honor when the hands held me, directed me, and poured through me. My usefulness or beauty was never about me in the first place. I was only as good as the hands holding me, the Spirit directing me, and the life pouring out of me.

I no longer have to worry about how I measure up or what people think of me. Without shame or guilt, I can expose my ugliness and brokenness. I can trust that as God holds and directs me, His life will pour through me into those He chooses.

This paradigm shift three years ago has enabled me to start walking in my calling to be an advocate for victims of all types of abuse. I get to write and speak to bring hope to other broken vessels like me.

For 30 more stories of our brokenness and His redemption, read, Bloom In the Dark. If you’d like to share your story of brokenness and redemption, please contact me through my website: www.bloominthedark.com. Thanks for the love, prayers and support for me, my family and the Bloom In the Dark mission. Paula

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