We try so hard to hide our scars.
We work diligently to cover signs of aging. We spend billions on face lifts, tummy tucks and hair implants in an effort to fool ourselves and others that time and trials can be erased like chalk on a blackboard.
We aim for smooth perfection, though few of us achieve it.
But there is no escaping or covering the deep wound of losing a child. All the make up in the world couldn’t return my “after” face to the carefree expression of “before”.
Photo filters and special effects will never recreate the light of eyes that did not know the sorrow of burying my son.
I am broken. This life has made cracks in my body and pierced my soul.
My wounds can be offensive to others–a reminder that they, too, may receive a blow that can’t be concealed.
The truth is that none of us escape hardship in life. All of us have hidden heartache. We all have cracks in our polished persona.
Dominic could be brutally honest.
A promise I made to myself, in honor of him, was that I would not hide my heart behind a false front or a fake smile. I would allow others to see both the brokenness and the usefulness of a life lived with pain.
Recently I was introduced to a Japanese art form called “kintsugi”. Artists repair broken pottery with lacquer dust mixed with precious metals, joining the cracked pieces and highlighting the imperfection.
According to one source, “As a philosophy it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.”
What a beautiful tribute to truth!
My brokenness is part of me, but so also is the healing.
Revealing my wounds, I invite others to reveal their own. Sharing my pain, I encourage others to share theirs. Opening my heart, I welcome you to open yours.
Displaying my scars, I uncover the glory of the God Who is healing them.
This priceless treasure we hold, so to speak, in a common earthenware jar—to show that the splendid power of it belongs to God and not to us.
2 Corinthians 4:7 Phillips