One day, my youngest daughter was playing in the house. She was throwing a ball around and I'm sure, before I even complete the story, you know what happened....yes, she accidentally knocked over the vase and broke it. She had been warned several times to play in another room, but was more concerned about playing than about listening to her mother.
The sound of her gasp, caused me to jump up from my chair at the same time the vase fell to the floor with a loud, shattering thud. Without even seeing it, I knew my vase was broken. I'll never forget the look of horror on her face. I knew she was instantly sorry for what she'd done. Instead of consoling her, I immediately began to berate her for breaking my prized possession. With huge crocodile tears in her eyes, she gathered up the pieces of the vase and ran up the stairs. I was so angry. I had warned her not to play with the ball indoors. She had destroyed my treasure. I think I fumed about the broken vase for the rest of the day while my daughter avoided all contact with me.
Jamie came to me later with what was left of the vase and the broken pieces. With such a sweet, tender voice she asked for some glue so she could repair the vase. I told her not to worry about it because it was damaged and would no longer be valuable to me. Her head hung in shame, she lay the vase and the pieces on the table and walked away.
Days passed and that broken vase lay unattended on the table in my basement craft room. Whenever I walked by it, I was saddened...I wasn't saddened by the loss of the vase, but in my actions toward my daughter. I heard the words of my mother in my head chiding me, "what's more important a thing or a person?" I knew I had reacted wrongly to the breaking of the vase. I had to make things right.
I found my daughter and apologized for saying such hurtful things to her. I explained to her why I reacted in the way I did. It was not that the vase was monetarily valuable, it was because it was because it had belonged to my grandmother. I had allowed my anger to cloud my judgment. I had reacted in a fleshly manner. I was so ashamed of myself.
Jamie accepted my apology and together we glued the pieces of the vase back together. Fortunately, we were able to fit all the pieces into place except for one tiny missing piece. After the glue had dried, she told me again how sorry she was for breaking the vase and how she knew it would never be the same again. I told her that the vase meant even more to me now because it was a constant reminder of how fragile people's feelings can be. I told her I never wanted to forget how I had made her feel that day and that I hoped I would never be so cruel to anyone ever again.
I managed to save the mended vase for many years after that, but on our recent move to our new home, the vase was broken again. This time it was beyond repair and I ended up throwing it away. What was more important, a person or a thing? For me, definitely my sweet daughter was more important than an antique pottery vase. Things can be replaced. People can't. I learned a valuable lesson that day and so did she. Forgiveness and love can heal hurt feelings and broken lives.
Here's another story I'd like to tie in with mine. I did not write this part and I don't know who did, so I can't give them credit but you'll see why I needed to share this in a few minutes as you continue to read: There's an ancient Japanese story that tells about a Sakai tea man who found a brilliant Chinese tea jar. He was so pleased with his find that he invited the famed tea man Sen no Rikyu to a gathering of friends to show off the beautiful piece. But to the Sakai man’s amazement, when he served tea in the lovely piece, Sen no Rikyu paid no mind to the jar. Once Sen no Rikyu left, the Sakai man threw the tea jar against a wall, shattering it into pieces. His friends gathered the fragments and took them home where they mended the jar back together with gold lacquer. The same friends then invited Sen no Rikyu to a gathering of their own where they offered him tea in the mended jar. When Rikyu saw the mended tea jar he exclaimed, “Now the piece is magnificent!” Some link this story to the birth of “kintsugi”, an ancient Japanese art which translates, “patch with gold.” Kintsugi artists mend broken pieces of ceramics and pottery using gold lacquer, making the pieces are more striking and unique than when they were pulled from the wheel or kiln. In a modern culture that often grades wholeness through the lens of perfection, Kintsugi offers a different perspective.
The art of kintsugi rests in the truth that vessels are stronger and more magnificent because they have been made whole from brokenness, not because they are without imperfection. Each vessel—and every one of our lives—can tell a unique story if we no longer feel we must hide the scarred parts of our lives. “We want to be restored to health, but we don’t simply want what we once were. We want to be better, stronger, wiser for the pain, struggle, and sacrifice.”
Isn’t this the wholeness that we truly seek? We want to be restored to health, but we don’t simply want what we once were. We want to be better, stronger, wiser for the pain, struggle, and sacrifice. We want our scars to shimmer like gold and tell a beautiful story: namely, that what is broken can be whole again, and more beautiful than before.
That broken vase, the art of kintsugi, my scars from surgery...all of those tie in together. Breaking isn't something we ever intend to have happen but sometimes, it just does. We can let the brokenness make us bitter or make us better. We can throw away the chipped pieces or gently try to repair them. It's our choice. If we choose to fit the pieces back together again, the scars become part of the beautiful story of a damaged but restored life. This is where I am now. My body has been broken and while I can't fit the pieces back together again, I can allow the scars to be a precious reminder of everything I've been through. They can be a constant reminder that I am still living....that I am still fighting...that I am so blessed.
Just like the pottery vase that Jamie and I mended together with glue, I'll never quite be the same again, but that's okay. I'm different now. And while you may think a broken vase would leak when you fill it with water, that's not the case with a broken and healed person. Instead of becoming weaker, they become stronger. In the same way a Kintsugi artist takes pieces of broken vessels and adorns them with brilliant gold lacquer, God's used this cancer to do the same for me. He's increased my value a thousand times over because He is the one who has done the restoration in my life. I have done nothing. He has fashioned and molded me completely into His perfect vessel even though He has allowed missing pieces to remain untouched. The Kintsugi art and the broken vase were mended with precision and accuracy to produce the best possible results. God has done the same with me.
When God chose to allow me to be broken, He knew exactly how much breaking needed to be done in order to teach me what He wanted me to learn. Modern day Kintsugi artists will take perfect pieces of pottery and purposely break them in order to practice their art. I certainly was in no way perfect before God allowed me to be broken. My scarred body is evidence of that, but one day, I will be perfect and I will have my broken body made whole again. There will be no need for gold lacquer to fill in the gaps. Those gaps will be filled in solidly with the love of Christ. For where I am weak, He is strong.
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