Skip to main content

pieces


My church is doing a sermon series on brokenness.
And recovery.
Last week I slept in.
And was a little tempted to skip again.

Because.
Even though the point of the series is that we are all recovering from something.
I am well aware that I am no exception.
And even though I share a lot of my life in this space.
I keep some things back.
Especially the cracks.
And this is a part of my past life that I have only hinted about here.

Partly because I have this fear that a student will stumble across it.
Or that maybe I am not totally all the way fixed.
And feel like I should be before I start writing about it.

Which really means there is shame.
And fear of accountability.

Because even though my bottom was a relatively high bottom.
It was still an ugly lonely place.
One that I would really like to avoid and not revisit.
And even though over a decade has passed.
It still feels pretty fragile.
Like those broken pieces have been tenderly and carefully glued back together.
But that it wouldn’t take much to send them shattering again.

Because looking back over the last decade.
I am still carrying the same baggage.
I am thankful that most days it is so light I don’t even notice it.
But on some very few days
It catches me full force again.
And it is so heavy that I feel crushed beneath it.
And I keep setting it down.
But it always seems to find me.
And out of habit, I suppose. I keep picking it up and lugging it along.

I think after all this time that those broken pieces should be solid enough again.
Because I learned so much in the being broken part.
That surely God has put me back together again.

And I get ever so frustrated when I run across a crack.
Like a broken dish or vase that has been glued back together.
It just isn’t the same.
The cracks still show. And leak.
And make it weak.

And even though this brokenness hasn’t won.
And that is was a long time ago.
I am painfully aware that it isn’t gone.
That I am just one pill.
Or one bottle.
Or one email.
Or one hurtful comment.
Or one pound.
Or one website.
Or one purchase.
Or one self-depricating thought.
Or one whatever your vice of choice.
From shattering all over again.
And finding, this time, a much lower bottom.
One in which I'm afraid I would never be able to find all the pieces.

And so, even though I am a long time “recovered”.
I am still fearful of exposing my cracks.
That eventually the glue holding them together just might give.
And I think this is because I have it all wrong.
Being broken.
Isn’t about God putting you back together again.

But about making something else entirely.
Something more beautiful from the pieces.
Something bigger that fits together perfectly.
Something that maybe I never even imagined.
Because a dish or a vase is just a plain old piece of pottery
Until it is broken.
And only then it can become a masterpiece.


(and I skipped the Friday playlist, so let me make up for it with one fabulous song that you will want to listen to over and over.)
and that really cool mosaic, I found here.

Comments

samskat said…
Wow. I have no idea what your broken place was, but kudos for making me want to put down my broken past and leave it behind to make me into something better.
This was such a beautiful post, my friend.
Those cracks, they're us. But at the same point, this moment is new and ours and doesn't contain things we did years ago.
And it's this moment that counts.
Kate said…
Sometimes, we want to be made whole, easily leaving behind those scars of our battles. Especially the ones we have to fight with ourselves. But sometimes, the place you mend is stronger then the original.

My husband has a crooked nose. It was broken a few times in silly boyhood activities. When he had to get a surgery to help him breath, the doctor suggested fixing the nose outside too. I looked shocked at such a suggestion. It is just these 'defects', these scars and cracks that make us beautiful.
mommaof3 said…
we are simply jars of clay......

Popular posts from this blog

Canceled

I inhale books. So much so that I’m occasionally embarrassed by my intake. I don’t want anyone to think that I don’t work or pay attention to my family.  I’m just a fast reader and I don’t watch a lot of TV or play any games on my phone. Well – except for Wordle of course. My library card get a lot of miles. However, I still probably spend an embarrassing amount on books.  Even though I often put books in those cute little free libraries – I still have more books than shelves.  Today I did something tragic.  I did not renew my book of the month membership.  And let's be honest, it is more like three books a month.  I am not unhappy with the customer service, quality  or selection.  Book of the Month, I promise …it’s not you - it’s me.  I want to invest in my writing and I realize this going to cost me.  I don’t want to take that money from my family or my kid’s college funds.  Instead I had to evaluate what I was willing to give up.  What financial choices impact me but not as many

slow

Recently I went to the local running store and let them charge a ridiculous amount for a new pair of running shoes. I used to run. Just like I used to do lots of things, but lately I have been slow to get off the couch. Let’s be honest. This season has been a long one, and I’ve been slow to do a lot of things that are good for me. My old shoes are wearing thin and nothing motivates like a new pair of kicks.  I quickly found my brand and style of choice and asked the worker to bring them in my size. The owner spoke up from the back, “So you are picking your shoes out based on how they look?” I pulled my own foot into her view. I showed her a similar pair in teal, well worn, with the big toe scuffed all the way through. The model was a few years old and I needed a fresh start.  “Nope. These are my brand, but I’m open to your suggestions.” Runners are very particular about their shoes.  I tell her I need something to absorb a lot of the impact.  I tell her that I overpronate just a little

The annual REAL Christmas letter: 2021 edition

  One of my favorite traditions for over a  decade has been to sit down and try to write a REAL Christmas letter.  Not just the highlights, but a few honest moments as well. It started as a joke with one of my friends, thinking how refreshing it be for people to share more than just their perfect lives that we are used to seeing on Facebook and Instagram. It would be way more truthful and a whole lot more entertaining. So here goes… 2021 I had such high hopes for you. Well, actually the bar was pretty low but clearly not low enough. If I have learned anything from 2020 it is that even things that are difficult, the days are still a gift. It is a gift to gather with family without a Covid test or a worrisome 5 days after. It is a gift to go to the movies or a concert. It is a gift to go to work, school and sporting events. It is a gift to get vaccines, to board an airplane to sit in a pew at church. It is a gift to be allowed back to visit someone in the emergency room. It is a gift to