Broken?

We spent a glorious and much-needed 8 days at the beach a couple of weeks ago. One day, when we were packing up to head back to our condo after spending a day at the beach, I found this shell. We’d been looking for a shell like this, but all the ones we found were broken in some way. So when I first saw this one, I was so excited because it looked perfect!

I washed it off at the foot washing stand as we were washing the sand from our feet, and I realized it was not perfect.

It was broken.

I almost threw it away, but I stopped. Because there was a life lesson this broken shell was trying to teach me.

Let’s be honest: We’re all broken in one way or another. We have things we struggle with. We have hard things that have happened to us. We have things we want to do better or not do at all. Some of us have big breaks, others have smaller ones. Some of our breaks are visible, while many—I’d even venture to say most—are invisible to those around us.

But those broken parts are still there.

I can place this shell so that it looks perfect, which I think we all try to do with our own broken parts. We show the world what we want them to see, thinking that maybe we need to look as unbroken and as perfect as possible. Maybe we do this out of self-protection, maybe not.

I can place this shell where you can see the broken part, which is more difficult for most of us to do, me included, when it comes to our own broken parts.

But here’s the deal…

When you look past that broken part, you can see the beauty of the rest of the shell and what’s inside the shell. And not only is it beautiful and totally unique, but it’s whole. Broken parts and all.

Where’s the life lesson in all of this?

I recently re-read a book titled Grace Where You Are by one of my favorite authors, Emily Belle Freeman, and in this book, she talks about the Japanese practice called Kintsugi where a broken piece of pottery is put back together with golden lacquer. And this isn’t a quick process either. It takes time…finding each piece, adding the lacquer to each piece, then waiting for that piece to set and become strong before adding another piece. If the process is rushed, the pieces will break off again. During this slow, methodical, patience-requiring repair process—putting what’s broken back together, something even more beautiful and unique is created. And the broken parts are still visible. They remain to tell the story of how what was broken became whole again.

While I can’t fix this broken shell like they do with Kintsugi, it is a reminder that even with some broken parts, this shell is still beautiful and unique. And I bet it has some amazing stories it could tell too!

Here’s the deal about being broken:

• We can’t become who we want to become until we go through those tough times, those times when we might feel broken.
• What if we looked at ourselves, broken parts and all, as a beautiful piece of art? The “golden lacquer” we use to help heal our broken parts could be the love, kindness, and support from others, the things we learn that help us do and become better, and the trying to overcome what’s difficult.
• We can be the golden lacquer to help others heal their broken parts. It doesn’t cost us anything to be kind, and a smile or a quick text takes literally seconds, but it could be that golden lacquer someone needs to help heal their broken parts.

I believe that God is the master healer and mender of broken things. He is THE the golden lacquer. He will work with me for as long as it takes to make what’s broken become whole again. And while some broken parts might still show through, with His help and healing, I can become who He wants me to become.

I’m keeping this shell—broken side up—on my desk in my office for two main reasons:

• As a continual reminder that I can be the golden lacquer that helps others handle and even heal their broken parts. Often, it’s through simply listening and loving.
• As a continual reminder of how important my brokenness is. It reminds me that my broken parts make me who I am. It’s through working through them, and accepting them when needed, that I’m becoming who I want to become.

Broken parts and all.