Brokenness

Let me apologize for missing last week's post. There was a lot going on that I had to take care of, but that's no excuse. If there's any way you can forgive me, any way I can make it up to you, please let me know in the comments. For now, please enjoy this week's discussion.

 

It’s one of the hardest things in the world, to admit I am broken. It’s hard because broken means weak. It means I no longer fulfill my intended purpose. It means I am beyond repairing myself, that the little cracks running through my jar have expanded and forced me to give up whatever hold I had on wholeness. A broken jar of clay – what is that worth, in our world where replacement is cheaper than repair and so few material things are worth fixing? In a world where so many brilliant minds go untouched by the cracks in our own – or so we think?

Here’s the thing about those cracks, the first lie we believe about them: we think we're the only ones who have them. We think the rest of the world isn't cracked, broken, shattered, flawed - and it's just not true. Those cracks,they’re present in everyone. Some are on the outside, where everyone can see and those who care can help, while those who don’t or who take a dislike to the jar can ignore or exploit them. Others have cracks on the inside, and they watch carefully to see what it looks like when they are admitted. If those around them care about the cracks on the outside, maybe they can reveal their own; but if others are apathetic or destructive, only the greatest of stress will make them reveal their flaws. Some pretend they have none, and hide them well, while others show them off, proud of the damage done.

I’m rereading a trilogy called Angel Eyes, by Shannon Dittemore – outside of my normal genres, but nonetheless I’m drawn to it because of the ideas it discusses. Besides dealing with the supernatural realm of angels and demons through a Christian lens, it also addresses how to be broken as this fallen world demands, how to struggle with the grief of life, and how to turn to God and trust Him despite the hardships we face. Brielle, the main character, begins the first book as a very broken girl. Her mother died of cancer before she could remember her, a hurt she’s dealt with and moved on, but now her best friend has been killed and she believes she could have stopped it. She tries to convince a trusted teacher and mentor of hers that she’s fine, she’s doing okay, she’s not as broken as he thinks. And he responds with one of the most grace-filled and powerful statements I’ve heard outside of Scripture.

“It’s okay to be broken. You know that, right?”

It's okay to be broken. And it's okay to acknowledge that you're broken. Those who admit their cracks, their scars, their mangled mindsets and broken beliefs – they’re the ones who can get help. Once they’re out in the open, they are seen by those who care.

Only when we are broken can we be fixed. Only when we are sick can we be healed. Only when we are sinful can we be forgiven. Only when we are torn can we be restored.

But it’s not safe to admit it, you may think. It’s not safe for you because you’re vulnerable; it’s not safe for them because it may hurt them. To some extent, you’re right. The whole world can’t handle our brokenness. There are too many fools who stoop to run their fingers through the broken shards and open old wounds of their own. Many would take a ragged-edged shard in their hands and clench it until they opened their own skin, and then blame you for the breaking. Some would even take that same shard and grind it into another, smashing the pieces into dust and wounding beyond repair.

But there are some you can trust – and as soon as I said that, someone surely came to mind. Some see your brokenness already, better than you do, and are merely waiting for you to open your mouth so they know you're ready for their help. Some care deeply, but haven’t seen that side of you, and they’d be at your side in a moment comforting you if you only asked. Some will have advice, small bottles of glue and plaster, that they can help you apply to bring the pieces back together. Others will only have listening ears, a sympathy beyond expressing, acknowledgement of the pain you’re feeling. Hopefully, all will point you to the Master Potter, the One who can take your shards of broken earthenware and reform them into a more precious, more durable, and even more valuable vessel than before.

There’s a subcategory of pottery created by the Japanese and known as kintsugi. Kintsugi takes shards of broken jars, some of which look to be beyond repair, and painstakingly fit the pieces back together, filling the cracks with molten gold. This makes a jar that was once useless useful again, a container that once leaked hold fast, a vessel once shattered now whole. And the shards of pottery which were worthless to others come together and are worth more than ever – the more cracks it had, the more gold is used, and the more it is worth.

We are all kintsugi. We have fallen to the ground, shattered into a thousand pieces. But our Father, the Master Potter, has gathered us back together. Once we allow Him to work in us, He takes the gold, the blood of His Son, and mends every crack in our skin, our hearts, our minds. He restores us in ways we could never have dreamed, making us more beautiful and valuable than we ever could have been as whole, untouched jars of clay. 

No matter how broken we are, He can use us.The more cracks, the more gold, the more blood of Christ covering us, the more story we have to tell. Yes, He can use us.

He can remake us.

And we can be whole again.