Broken to be shared: When the breaking became the blessing

I still remember the last time I was heartbroken and painfully single.

It was an ordinary Sunday in our small parish in Fujairah – a humble, one-story building that’s been home to our local Catholic community for years.

The place was packed as always, with familiar faces in familiar pews; mostly families I’d grown up seeing every week. 

At the altar, the priest lifted the Heavenly Host as he had done countless times before.

He broke it in two, then into smaller pieces – the sound barely audible over his words echoing Jesus’ blessing from the Last Supper, yet somehow resounding through the soul.

A soft, sacred crack that lingered in the air like a prayer.

Then I was standing in line for the Holy Eucharist, facing the priest as he held up a fragment – uneven, imperfect, yet utterly holy.

I said the only word that could hold all that moment meant:
“Amen.”

It means so be it.
It means I believe.
It means even this – even the breaking – I will receive.

As he placed the Host on my tongue, somehow I knew it wasn’t just my response to the sacrament.
It was my response to life itself.

To trust.
To love.
To the unknown.

That Amen became my yes to everything God would unfold from that moment onward – the surrender before the healing; the acceptance before the restoration.

That moment in church became the quiet turning point of my life.

Heartbreak was no longer something to escape from; it became something to offer: a place of communion between my wounds and God’s mercy.

And truly, God used that brokenness for His glory.

 I threw myself into service – pouring my heart into Singles for Christ and serving Kids for Christ.

There, among the laughter and songs and sticky little hands raised in prayer, I found healing. 

Children love without measure, without calculation, without fear.
They give and give – lavishly, endlessly – until love itself fills the room. 

Alongside service came scripture, prayer and community: the quiet strength of friends who prayed with me, the beauty of worship, and the humbling grace of being used by God even when I felt unworthy.

There was even a workshop on handling emotions as a Christian – simple, practical wisdom that gently reoriented my heart toward peace.

Piece by piece, He gathered my fragments and made something beautiful.
Not perfect, but purposeful. 

And then, when I least expected it, He unveiled a love story I could never have imagined.

This boy from the Philippines who first laid eyes on me in Abu Dhabi and Dubai in the space of a single day, found me – two years later – in my little hometown at the edge of the desert (the edge of the UAE!) and chose me, every day.

I’m not the easiest person to love... while he’s the gentlest, kindest, purest heart I’ve ever known.

Shared service and spiritual friendship paved the way for love, that deepened with Holy Matrimony, and entrusted with the calling to raise a God-honouring family.

Ours is a story not of perfection, but of grace – proof that God’s timing and tenderness are beyond comprehension.

Today, as I look at the calendar, I realise that by this time next month, my sister will be savouring her first days as a married woman! These are her last days savouring singleness.

In her life, too, she has known heartbreak – as we all have.

People who let us down.
Dreams that didn’t unfold as we hoped.
Chapters that ended too soon.

But always, always, God uses it for His greater glory.
He takes what was broken and turns it into something meant to be shared – a story, a lesson, a testimony, a love.

And so when I see her walking down the aisle a month from now, I will be mopping away happy tears as my heart rejoices. My soul will praising the Lord –

for her and my new brother-in-law,
for their journey,
for every heartbreak that became a doorway to grace,
for every breaking that became a blessing.

Because this is the truth I carry still, etched deep in my soul since that day in the church:

The breaking was never the end of us.
It was the beginning of who we are called to be: broken to be shared.

Today I finally understand that our own breaking is never separate from His:
Jesus was broken — in body and in spirit — for God’s greater glory and the salvation of all.

And in the quiet that followed, I found myself praying... not with words rehearsed, but with a heart made bare:

Lord, when I am broken, remind me that You never waste pain.
Teach me to be bread in Your hands – lifted, blessed, broken, and shared.
Let every fracture become a place where Your light enters,
and every sorrow a channel of Your grace.

Make me whole not by mending my edges,
but by teaching me to love like You do:
not in perfection,
but in offering.

AMEN.

For anyone who has ever been broken: May you find beauty in the giving.

Written in gratitude to the God who turns breaking into blessing.