I watched in
dismay as one of my pretty blue mugs fell from the bench and shattered into
uselessness on the hard tiles below.
Hubby broke one
of his favourite cups in a similar fashion.
One of the kids
knocked a parcel of delicate glass candle holders onto the floor. You know- the
ones I was just about to wrap for my secret prayer friend at Church. When the
shops are closed and I need to have it ready for first thing in the morning.
The theme has
continued…
Stuff keeps
breaking, like the light bulbs I never saw sitting on the bench. Until they no
longer were. Becoming quite useless
after a split second trip to the floor.
Or the car
yesterday. Not its first ride home these past few months on the back of a tow
truck.
Broken.
The word seems
to be shouting at me.
I feel it
inside myself too.
The longing to
connect with a certain young man who moved in with us last year. The realising
just how hard that is going to be.
The need to
help another one understand that we really are just trying to help. Please
don’t think of us so, dear child.
The messes and
lists that go with them. Aware of my limitations.
The tiredness
we feel as the year marches on. The exhaustion that sets in, at times making
relationship at home strained and awkward.
My seeming
inability to relate to those in the world around me too.
I remember reading
about a broken window once (or twice – I loved this book)
“Most significant, perhaps, is my twelve-paned
bedroom window installed in the front wall when remodelling the room from a garage.
The lower left-hand pane was broken when my ex-husband was moving a large
mirror shortly before he left our home. The mirror shattered. As for the broken
pane, I never had it replaced, because after our divorce I never had an extra
fifty bucks. Yet I’ve thought a lot about that smashed windowpane with its
spiderweb appearance. It became a symbol of our broken home, and I was forced
to come to terms with its cold, sharp edges and tacky appearance. Perhaps I
never had the window fixed because somehow I knew things need time to be what they are.”
–Marlee LeDai
What we are.
Maybe I just
need time to appreciate where things are at. Not because they are beautiful
right now. Rather what they have potential to be.
I have to the
see the blemishes as something more.
When we go
treasure hunting for vintage finds, it is not the perfect pieces we are drawn
to. The stuff that comes home is often tattered, well worn, and tells a story
in the scrapes and bruises it bears. Sometimes we leave it as it is. Other
times we administer a dose of TLC. But we are careful to never strip a piece
completely of evidence of the life it has lived.
Because this is
where the beauty is found. A beauty that is not so much about perfection as
realness. A beauty that draws us in and
fascinates us with its character. Beauty that stands tall despite (or because
of?) hardships and difficulty.
Beauty that
says, “Me too.”
Two thousand
years ago, a wee babe entered into this world. The conditions were hardly what
we might consider ideal. Just a dusty stable full of animals and a makeshift
manger cradle. Why? Because he was
willing to enter into our mess. Our brokenness. He was willing to take it all
on. To get to know us. On our level. To be real. To be able to say, “Me too.”
To love us
where we are and invite us to so much more…
All that
shattered glass cannot be mended. It doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme
of things anyway. The brokenness inside us does. I’ve puzzled over this
recurrent theme trying to make sense of it all. I’m not quite there yet. I’m
handing my pieces to the master craftsman though. Trusting him to work it all
out. In his way. In his time. Hoping that one day the beauty will be revealed.
“Windows may not be fixed right away, but that does
not mean they will never be mended. Everything may not become clear in a
twinkling. It takes courage to begin to think in different ways about anything
that gives you pain. It takes courage to see the possibilities in disability or
disease or divorce. But that doesn’t mean that you and I can’t live with style,
dignity, and intention.” – Marlee LeDai
