More beautiful broken

Two things spoke to me this week.

First some lines from T S Eliot's poem, East Coker:

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God...
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

Then this:

There's a depth can only come with brokenness; a hope can only come in darkness.

Selah.