It was a beauty! A soft blush colour with a few sweet little flowers painted on it’s side. It was also an amazing size. I found it in a great little country gift shop just outside of Drumheller and began to dream of all the wonderful things I was going to serve in it when I got back home. It was the highlight of my shopping that summer. The boys were given very strict instructions to be careful with my beautiful pottery bowl.
A few days later we arrived back home and began unpacking the van. Minutes later I heard a noise. That sickening crunch of pottery breaking. My husband stood over my now broken bowl laying on the ground. “Oops. Sorry about that.” I was so angry and also absolutely heartbroken. My dreams of all the things I was going to serve in it, broke too.
Now it may seem rather ridiculous that I would get so upset about a busted bowl but…I was.
As a mom of 2 boys, I’ve dealt with my share of broken things. It’s something pretty common with raising kids. Broken toys. Broken dishes. Surprisingly, no broken bones. I did my best to not get too upset and teach them how to be careful and take care of their belongings.
(The broken bones were my department. Tailbone, nose, toes…all small but still painful.)
I married a man who regularly breaks things. He gets in a hurry or doesn’t pay attention. One would think that I would get used to it over time but I really don’t like it when things break.
Broken cookies are a struggle for me too. Even when they are needing to be broken for a particular recipe, I don’t enjoy it.
Broken dishes, broken cookies, broken hearts. I know it’s part of life, a part of living in a broken world but it’s such a struggle.
Now, this blog is not meant to be sad and depressing. Broken things may be part of this life but it certainly doesn’t mean that those things become useless. Those cookies make the tastiest squares. The toys can usually be mended and a broken heart heals to become wiser. And then there is that pottery bowl. Well over 15 years ago, I picked up the broken pieces and carefully glued them together. The bowl wouldn’t be able to hold food or even something decorative. It would, however, be beautiful in my flower garden. A lovely backdrop for pansies or whatever sweet little blossoms that caught my eye in the greenhouse that year. Every time I walk by that flowerbed I’m reminded that broken doesn’t mean useless. It just requires a change in perspective.
To you who are suffering through brokenness, take heart. Your value has not disappeared. You are not useless, ugly or without value. Choose healing and let those scars be a reminder to you of the beauty of strength.