repairable
It was given to me when she passed away, carried from Omaha to Port au Prince.
The pieces of my grandmothers blue candy dish lay shattered on my bedroom floor. An important family heirloom ruined. Disappointed and upset about breaking this piece of family history I cried over the broken glass. How could I be so careless with something important to so many?
Cracked into so many jagged pieces, repair and restoration seemed unlikely if not impossible.
A few days later it is Christmas morning and the door to my teenage daughter's room is locked. "What are you doing? Please open up!" I say with my face smashed into the door. Shortly thereafter she appears, pride and triumph evident on her face. She walks toward me to gingerly place the dish, precariously pieced back together, into my hands. I gasp with surprise. It looks so much like it looked before it crashed to the floor. She beams with joy.
Just as she sets the mainly restored lid of the dish back in its place on top, the entire thing crashes into pieces again in my hands, slicing my thumb. Pieces fall to the floor around our feet.
Knowing the time and painstaking effort she invested into the repair I look at her face, assuming it is now her turn to weep. She pauses, looks at the pieces both in my hands and on the floor below us. She takes a deep breath and in a matter of fact tone she says, "I'll fix it again. This is repairable. You just watch." She bends down to pick up what has fallen a second time and turns to walk away with it.
Cracked again into so many jagged pieces, repair and restoration seemed unlikely if not impossible.
A number of days later, glue dried a second time, a few extra scars and missing pieces evident, she presents me with the dish once more.
I remember vividly the pain of crashing a second time. I was a divorced, single mom. At twenty-two years old I was trying desperately to piece my life back together after the second shattering.
I said and thought things to myself.
"I cannot be fixed."
"Once was enough."
"Who will love you now?"
"This is too much. Give up."
"You cannot be made whole."
Cracked into so many jagged pieces, repair and restoration seemed unlikely if not impossible.
At the time I was carrying in my womb the unplanned little baby girl that would grow up to look me in the eye and say to me with confidence, "This is repairable, you just watch."
The pieces of my grandmothers blue candy dish lay shattered on my bedroom floor. An important family heirloom ruined. Disappointed and upset about breaking this piece of family history I cried over the broken glass. How could I be so careless with something important to so many?
Cracked into so many jagged pieces, repair and restoration seemed unlikely if not impossible.
~ ~ ~
A few days later it is Christmas morning and the door to my teenage daughter's room is locked. "What are you doing? Please open up!" I say with my face smashed into the door. Shortly thereafter she appears, pride and triumph evident on her face. She walks toward me to gingerly place the dish, precariously pieced back together, into my hands. I gasp with surprise. It looks so much like it looked before it crashed to the floor. She beams with joy.
Just as she sets the mainly restored lid of the dish back in its place on top, the entire thing crashes into pieces again in my hands, slicing my thumb. Pieces fall to the floor around our feet.
Knowing the time and painstaking effort she invested into the repair I look at her face, assuming it is now her turn to weep. She pauses, looks at the pieces both in my hands and on the floor below us. She takes a deep breath and in a matter of fact tone she says, "I'll fix it again. This is repairable. You just watch." She bends down to pick up what has fallen a second time and turns to walk away with it.
Cracked again into so many jagged pieces, repair and restoration seemed unlikely if not impossible.
A number of days later, glue dried a second time, a few extra scars and missing pieces evident, she presents me with the dish once more.
I remember vividly the pain of crashing a second time. I was a divorced, single mom. At twenty-two years old I was trying desperately to piece my life back together after the second shattering.
I said and thought things to myself.
"I cannot be fixed."
"Once was enough."
"Who will love you now?"
"This is too much. Give up."
"You cannot be made whole."
Cracked into so many jagged pieces, repair and restoration seemed unlikely if not impossible.
At the time I was carrying in my womb the unplanned little baby girl that would grow up to look me in the eye and say to me with confidence, "This is repairable, you just watch."
~ ~ ~
I am heavy with the awareness of the shattered, desperate, and broken world we all woke up to this morning ... Each of us cracked and in need of repair; each of us loving someone in need of the same, all longing for restoration, peace, and hope.
My prayer this New Year is that we find the courage to overcome the pain and shame of whatever piece of us has been shattered. As we enter into the new year may we each hear directly from Him what I know to be true: 'This is repairable.You just watch.'
(originally posted Dec. '12)
