As you glance around my home, you will see various trinkets and furniture collected through the years scattered about. If you look closely, you may catch the scars some of them bear. These imperfections tell stories. Despite my frustrations at the time of injury, the stories behind them speak of accidents in the midst of routine life.
Heads popping off my willow tree figures as a child, with abandon, lifts up a blanket to cover their body in motion; knocking the figure off the shelf nearby.
Our coffee table, bought nineteen years ago so that guests had somewhere to place food for my son’s dedication party held in our cramped little house, is worn. Its hinges for the nifty cover (it holds things!) have been replaced several times. My son has made me promise that the table, despite its weak hinge bearing function, cannot ever leave our home.
Last year, I learned about a fascinating process of creating art called Kintsugi. This Japanese art form involves repairing broken pottery by bonding the pieces with gold or silver lacquer. The philosophy behind restoring the vessels is that the piece is actually more beautiful for having been broken.
The lacquer serves two purposes: First: it fills in the cracks and holds the pieces together Second: it adds an element of beauty that did not exist previously.
Is it no wonder that scripture uses the imagery of “broken vessels” or “jars of clay” to describe humanity? Our flesh and soul bare witness to weakness.
Yet, God longs to see us restored vessels.
When we refuse to acknowledge our brokenness, we deny God the opportunity to fill in our “cracks.”
“My strength is made perfect in your weakness.” 2 Cor. 12:9
Unlike, my trinkets, we are made more beautiful and more useful as God’s character fills in our cracks.
And our scars tell a remarkable story.
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