Pieces. Nothing but a bunch of mismatched pieces with edges that no longer met as they should. The plate that had slipped from my hands was nothing special—no treasured heirloom from a far-off land, no relic bequeathed to me from a beloved grandmother. In fact, I didn’t even like the pattern. It was, however, part of a set that had survived the many moves to my home. It had met its end by shaking hands at the end of a trying day—one of many.
My daughter’s laughter drew me from my self-absorbed thoughts, and listening to her musical banter pulled me back from the path of woe is me, down which I headed.
“Look, Mommy. The same!”
I looked at my scattered pieces of a twenty-year-old dinner plate and her plastic Lego blocks. Two heaps of brokenness on the floor.
Dropping to my knees to pick up the pieces, I kept one eye on my little girl, who was doing much the same. However, with the bits of color she gathered in her tiny hands, she began to rebuild. Where I saw destruction, she saw possibility.
There is a fascinating Japanese art form known as Kintsugi, where artisans use broken bits of pottery to craft new pieces, sealing the cracks with a lacquer mixed with gold. The cracks are not disguised but highlighted for all to see. They accept the vulnerability present in every living being and celebrate the beauty in brokenness.
Our Father can and does use broken people. How do I know this? Because those are the only kind of people. We are flawed, but we’re also created for a purpose. Perfect vessels are not required to serve Him, only willing ones. God uses broken things. Broken soil. Broken clouds.
Let God use you, flaws and all. Let yourself be filled and spilled, again and again, for the beauty of brokenness.
