The Shepherd Who Mends the Broken Places

Posted on May 30, 2026 by Jordan Register

My fingers pressed on a tender spot on my knee while I leaned into the soft marmalade wingback chair. The hot day was coming to a close in the small Mexican orphanage where I served on staff. The residents were snugly tucked in, prayers were said, and dishes were done. The tender, aching, but unseen wound now called for care in the still moment.

Soon, the source of pain rested in my hands. Glass. Staring at the distinct square shard in my palm transported me to the memories of the car crash. Days before, many off-duty helpers and I knelt at the side of a busy highway while waiting for paramedics to arrive.

The scene of the crash played out like a movie in my mind: the rushing traffic on the interstate, the quick introduction of a doctor and a firefighter who also pulled over, and, within a few minutes, the ambulance sirens approaching from a distance. The good Samaritan physician stepped forward and led the handover to the paramedics. We said our goodbyes, and as we headed to other destinations, I provided fleeting notice to my own cuts and scrapes.

The tenderness of that spot in the days that followed came in moments when I bent a knee to tie a child’s shoe or to say a prayer. A sharp prick and a dull ache served as a signal that I felt unequipped to confront.

The sharp square was cradled in a careful pinch. As I stared at the shard of glass, Psalm 23:3 was stirring in my heart: “He restores my soul…” (Psalm 23:3, CSB).

How long had shrapnel lain dormant in my heart and soul?

A gracious mirror reflected my soul, and I saw lies that took root during wounding moments. They were long hidden from awareness while they pierced the landscape of my heart. As I held the sharp edges in my hand, I recognized that the restoration of my soul did not mean attempting to find external ways to shape myself to compensate for deeper pain.

It was instead to offer the wounds with their sensitivities, scars, and jagged debris to the Good Shepherd for careful examination. It was also restful trust in His transformative process. His patient extraction offered healing balms of grace, which bonded broken places and reflected the truth of His faithfulness.

Restoration in the wounded places becomes the very places we see and experience His glory. It does not mean we become emotionally detached from painful moments. Instead, we can reflect on these areas and see the testimony of where the Shepherd restored our souls with His nature.

The lines of healing balm become landmarks of our stories.

His presence in moments of fear. The truth of how He sees us. His understanding in moments of weakness, loss, and brokenness. The tender wounds were once pressed upon to remind us of pain. The restored places are now tender with a hope and a praise of His caring hands.

Reflect:

1. Are there places in your life where pain has been quietly buried beneath the surface, much like the shard hidden in the wound? What might it look like to bring those places honestly before the Shepherd?
2. The psalmist writes, “He restores my soul.” How have you seen God gently reveal and tend wounded places in your life over time?
3. Your story includes both pain and restoration. When you reflect on your past wounds, can you see places where God’s presence, truth, or care has become part of your story of healing?