I think of all the teacups and dainty porcelain dishes I pass at the thrift stores and antique shops.
I think of who those cups must have belonged to.
I wonder if they were cherished at one point.
I wonder if they were tossed away because they were broken, or perhaps passed down to someone without an appreciate for fine China.
I wonder what it would have been to live in a time when people took time to sit and talk over strong tea and scones.
I wonder what it would have been like to live in a time when people fixed things that were broken, instead of tossing them to the side.
I think of how it feels to be sick, as though your body has betrayed you.
I think of the uncertainty. The stress. Waiting for results.
I think of the anguish over wanting so badly to fix things, knowing (in so many cases) that you can’t.
I think of waiting. In a doctor’s room. In a hospital room.
I think of all the times I’ve been there. All the times my friends have been there.
And I think of how badly it sucks to be there, waiting to find out if what’s wrong can be healed.
I think of worn-out sneakers. Severed friendships. Teddy bears hugged so hard their noses have faded and their ears have fallen off.
I think about all the things in life that have been broken, that are broken…
All the things in my life that I have broken, or disregarded when they no longer looked shiny and new.
I think about how easy it is to get caught up in replacing the things that have aged or tattered…
I think about how often I want to start fresh, start over, instead of trying harder with what I’ve got.
And I think about how much I would rather be part of a restoration process instead.
Not because it's easier. (It's not.)
But because it's worth it (as most difficult things are).
I love nothing more than when I see something old made new again.
When I see something broken repaired.
A classic car. A mended friendship. A glued together teacup.
These things are beautiful.
Not because they are perfect, but because they’ve been lovingly repaired.
How I long to be at the art of repairing.
Fixing what is broken.
Restoring what is lost.
Redeeming, through love.
There’s no greater act.
And there’s no greater need.
I can't think of a more fitting or beautiful word to have prompted posts this Good Friday.
Brokenness, and restoration have been on my mind a lot lately.
Especially as we approach Easter.
And speaking of, there's one part of the Easter story, in particular, that I've always loved.
It's when the Temple curtain is torn.
It indicated that the inner sanctuary - where only the highest of priests was ever allowed to enter, and only one day a year - was now open to all.
That curtain, something the people considered incredibly important, sacred, was destroyed...
So that a new church could begin.
A better one.
One meant to invite people into the presence of God, instead of keeping them out.
And that, is beautiful!
It's amazing how even the darkest day in history is speckled with light.
I think that's what hope does.
It finds the light seeping through the cracks.