There are truths so weighty they arrive not as whispers but as reverberations, shaking the foundation of a weary heart: some things are better broken.
Not because brokenness is easy. Not because it doesn't ache. But because some relationships, illusions, or identities must shatter before the soul can breathe again.
The Beauty Hidden in the Breaking
Scripture does not shy away from brokenness. In fact, it often reveals it as the very doorway through which healing walks. Consider Psalm 34:18: "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
The brokenhearted are not abandoned; they are accompanied. God does not despise the breaking. He draws near to it.
In Judges 7, Gideon's army carried clay jars concealing torches. It was only when the jars were broken that the light could shine forth (Judges 7:20). What concealed the fire had to be shattered so that the victory could begin.
Sometimes, what breaks us is the very thing that frees what was hidden inside us.
When Wholeness Becomes a Cage
There are seasons when what looks whole is actually withholding. Relationships may appear intact but are silently draining. Roles we assumed in life—dutiful, accommodating, quiet—may no longer fit. In those times, the breaking is not destruction. It is mercy.
Jesus Himself, before feeding the multitudes, took bread, blessed it, broke it, and then gave it (Luke 9:16). The blessing and the giving were bookended by breaking. Why should we expect our lives to be any different?
And in our modern moments of reflection, sometimes a lyric can echo truth with haunting clarity. In Sarah McLachlan’s recent song "Better Broken," she sings:
"Let it be all it is, small and still, a memory like a stone—
Some things are better broken."
There is permission in that refrain. Permission to release what once defined us but no longer fits. Permission to allow the jagged edges to soften, not by holding tighter, but by letting go. The song becomes a kind of benediction—an affirmation that brokenness isn’t always failure, but sometimes the very path to freedom.
"Maybe if I wait a little, I'd remember how it hurts and stop before I fall...
Let memory wash over me, forgive but don't forget."
There’s holy wisdom in those lines. Sometimes the most sacred thing we can do is to stop trying to return to something that cannot hold us anymore—and to bless the ending.
Discernment in the Shattering
Not all breaking is holy. Some fractures come from harm, not from heaven. Yet, even then, the God who brings beauty from ashes (Isaiah 61:3) can transform even the most painful break into sacred ground.
Discernment is key. Ask: Did this break awaken something I had silenced? Did it invite me closer to truth, even through pain? If the answer is yes, then it is not cruelty—it is clarity.
Applications for the Mending Heart
Release what no longer brings peace. If a relationship, role, or expectation is only sustained by your silence or shrinking, it may be time to let it break.
Stay open in the aftermath. Don’t rush to fix what was fractured. Some healing only comes through sitting in the quiet aftermath.
Let Scripture interpret the pain. Reflect on verses like Isaiah 57:15: "I live in a high and holy place, but also with the one who is contrite and lowly in spirit."
Trust that clarity will rise. The loss may still sting, but clarity is a holy reward. And God often does His finest work in the ruins.
Final Reflection
Some things are better broken.
Not because God delights in our pain, but because He sees what we cannot: the freedom on the other side. The light that only shines when the jar is shattered. The wholeness that only arrives through surrender.
If you're holding a fracture today, take heart. God is not wasting your break. He may just be setting you free.
Let the song and the Scripture speak as one: healing often begins not with the mending, but with the moment we dare to break open and believe that what comes next can be holy.
"I'd forget to come apart, I'd catch myself and hold on tightly—
Let memory wash over me, forgive but don't forget."
— Sarah McLachlan, "Better Broken"