Before You Read Broken Toys

Before I tell you my story, I need to share with you who I am. There is no judgment from me on anyone, and I pray you will extend me that same grace.

I am a woman who has been broken, rebuilt, broken again, and rebuilt once more. I am a wife, a mother, a minister, and someone who spent far too many years bringing home things God never asked me to carry. If you picked up this book because the title stopped you in your tracks, there is a good chance you already know exactly what I mean by that.

This is not a book written from a distance. I did not study brokenness from behind a pulpit and hand you a set of clean, tidy conclusions. I lived every page of what you are about to read. I made the calls I am about to tell you I regret. I opened doors I should have kept locked. I loved people and situations that were never mine to fix, and I paid for it in years I cannot get back.

I share these things with you not because I am proud of them, but because I believe someone reading this needs permission to stop pretending. Permission to admit that they, too, have been collecting broken toys and calling it faith, calling it patience, calling it love. My prayer is that as you walk through these chapters with me, you will find the courage to look honestly at your own hands and ask what you are still holding onto that God never gave you.

I do not have all the answers. I only have my story, my scars, and the God who never once let go of me even when I gave Him every reason to. If that is enough to walk with for a while, then I invite you to keep reading.