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I Cannot Fix It.


I have spent several hours in as many days this week trying to fix a printer. As printers go, she's a gem, a luxe, beautiful bargain I bought when I taught high school English at the height of Covid. A $1000 printer I got for 20 bucks at a yard sale, absolutely Providential, no doubt. But she’s broken. Something deep inside her is very wrong. Turns out, it’s irreparably wrong. I cannot fix it.


The printer had been sitting on a chair in my den glaring at me for weeks. Seriously.


"I have too much going on!" I wanted to shout at her. "Please fix yourself!"


I even prayed, "Lord, please fix her!" I've been known to pray for the healing of inanimate objects, with some success. Not this time.


Finally, I mustered the fortitude to embark on the grueling journey of technical troubleshooting, starting with the simpler steps. Unplug, reset. No go.


I tried harder.

At one point during this process, I gave up. I just don’t have this kind of time, you know?! The black hole of endless Google searches, tedious fixes, rabbit trails, hours on technical support calls across multiple oceans. Precious though she is, I was ready to just chuck her without any further effort.


Then I reconsidered. After all, she is extremely valuable and far, far better than my everyday printer. I dug a little deeper, and finally felt like I was onto something, at last confident I'd really found the solution. I set about my charted course of action with fresh resolve, sure that I was on the right track.


Thursday, I was already mentally writing an uplifting blog inspired by my printer troubleshooting saga. I would write about perseverance and the victory won by trying harder, Isabella style.

That is not the blog I am writing today.


The blog I'm writing today is that I have tried and tried and tried to fix it and cannot. In fact, I’d discovered another problem, more baffling, more terminal.


Wack a mole. Problems are like that.


Now this printer is destined for the dumpster and the landfill or the land of misfit technology. Nobody wants or needs a broken printer. Even for parts.

The Good News.

Thank God that God, my Heavenly Father, does not cast me off in my brokenness. He does not give up on me.


Ever.


He is ever ready to forgive me, to help.


There are some things about me that are wrong that I cannot fix. But I know God can. He's proven it to me. All along, there have been things that were desperately wrong with me that God fixed--sometimes suddenly, sometimes slowly, but always graciously, lovingly, mysteriously.


My part? My part, if anything, is humble willingness. A willingness born of pain, frustration, heartbreak, and/or, a simple realization that God's way is best.

There are other things He hasn't fixed yet, even stuff I truly want gone and make an effort to surrender. Still, He loves me. Not only that, but He's often used even my broken parts for good. Unlike my printer.


In Christ, I will never land in the landfill.

In Christ, my value is not diminished by my brokenness.

In Christ, even my brokenness can be used for good.

In Christ, I have access to the ultimate technical support, the fix for whatever, forever.


I may not be restored to perfect working order this side of heaven, but I'm confident that one day, I will. In the meantime, He loves me, broken parts and all.


Grace, peace, joy & love in Christ,