With a weary sigh, I put the finishing touches on the dining room centerpiece, a wicker cornucopia overflowing with plump mini-pumpkins and lumpy gourds, resting on a bed of bittersweet branches with bright orange-yellow berries.<\/p>\n
As I move around the table placing a foil-wrapped chocolate turkey at each place setting, a familiar sadness washes over me. It\u2019s been years since my mom passed away, and now, with the approaching holidays I\u2019m feeling blue once again. I shouldn\u2019t be surprised. It happens every year at this time.<\/p>\n
In the living room, I glumly fill glass bowls with assorted nuts and candy corn. And that\u2019s when I see my favorite bibelot, a winsome ceramic figure of a smiling, kimono-clad Asian boy. Broken.<\/p>\n
His right sleeve hangs loose and empty, and his little fist rests on the coffee table, still clutching his slender bamboo pole and tiny lantern. Along with Mom\u2019s love of \u201coriental d\u00e9cor\u201d (Translation: knick-knacks), I had inherited the little fellow from her.<\/p>\n
With his barefoot purposeful stride and cheery cherubic countenance, he had been her favorite, too. At Christmastime, she liked to tuck a sprig of holly in his lantern; in springtime, pink cherry blossoms.<\/p>\n
Gently, I gather up his small broken body and carry it to the kitchen table to repair. Alas, I am no expert when it comes to repairing ceramics, but with my trusty tube of superglue, I try my best. I spread the pieces out on a clean dishtowel and examine them carefully.<\/p>\n
Broken at the wrist, the figurine\u2019s chubby fist is pierced with a hole designed to carry the weight of his pole and lantern. Thankfully, it\u2019s a clean break.<\/p>\n
I line up the tiny broken hand with the green-glazed kimono-sleeve, and apply a thin layer of glue to both surfaces. Then I press the two pieces together and hold, according to instructions, for five minutes.<\/p>\n
As the kitchen timer ticks away the seconds, I close my eyes and my thoughts drift from the task at hand to the ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi<\/em>.<\/p>\n Dating back to the 15th<\/sup> century, kintsugi<\/em> or \u201cgolden joinery\u201d is the art of repairing cracked or broken ceramics with pure gold with the purpose of showing how something broken and fixed can be more beautiful and stronger than the original.<\/p>\n In kintsugi<\/em>, the shining golden cracks, unashamedly illuminating and exposing the damage, are the aesthetic focal point. Perfect in their imperfection, golden-veined kintsugi<\/em> pieces are not only more beautiful and stronger than the original unbroken pieces, they are more valuable.<\/p>\n What a lovely idea<\/em>, I think, that beauty and strength can be revealed in brokenness<\/em>.<\/p>\n In the Bible, human beings are referred to as \u201cearthen vessels,\u201d and God as our \u201cMaster Potter.\u201d Is it possible<\/em>, I wonder, that beauty and strength might be hiding, waiting to be revealed in our brokenness, too?<\/em><\/p>\n For example, I\u2019ve often wondered why, when Jesus appeared to his disciples after his resurrection, his new, heavenly body was not \u201cperfect,\u201d but still bore the marks of the wounds suffered on the cross.<\/p>\n Could it be that, it is through the marks of Christ\u2019s brokenness that his strength, beauty and power are most fully revealed?<\/p>\n And what about our invisible brokenness?<\/em> I wonder. Our everyday silent concerns and struggles?<\/em> Is it possible that beauty and strength might be hiding, waiting to be revealed in them, too?<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n If we\u2019re honest, we are all broken, we all struggle. When we unashamedly confess and shine the light on our brokenness, when we share our stories, we not only open ourselves to God\u2019s healing touch, we also sometimes we help others.<\/p>\n I learned this first-hand through my mom, with whom\u2013truth be told\u2013I didn\u2019t always enjoy the closest relationship. When at age 78, with failing eyesight, she unexpectedly came to live in the in-law apartment attached to our house, I wasn\u2019t so sure it would work out.<\/p>\n We were different in so many ways. Over the years, there were so many unresolved hurts and misunderstandings. But God, the Master Potter, knew what he was doing.<\/p>\n Over the next twelve years, Mom and I had the opportunity to grow to understand, respect and love each other in a way I once would never have dreamed possible.<\/p>\n Maybe<\/em>, I think, <\/i>there\u2019s something beautiful in my holiday blues. Maybe my missing Mom is a<\/em> <\/i>gift\u2013God\u2019s way of reminding me how he can take life\u2019s most difficult circumstances and mistakes\u2013whatever they may be\u2013and transform them into something beautiful and good\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n The timer rings. I open my eyes and look down at the ceramic figure held tightly between my hands. For a moment, I don\u2019t want to let go. When I do, much to my relief the little fellow\u2019s hand stays firmly attached. But is the bond strong enough to hold his pole and lantern?<\/em><\/p>\n Carefully, I slide the slender bamboo stick into his tiny fist\u2026. Success!<\/em><\/p>\n I return him to his place of honor on the coffee table. If I look closely, a hairline crack encircles his wrist. Like a<\/em> <\/i>kintsugi <\/i>bracelet<\/em>, I think. His tiny lantern swings gently\u2026 invitingly.<\/p>\n Impulsively, with a suddenly hopeful heart, I race into the dining room and break off a tiny cluster of bittersweet berries\u2014and gently tuck them into his lantern.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" With a weary sigh, I put the finishing touches on the dining room centerpiece, a wicker cornucopia overflowing with plump mini-pumpkins and lumpy gourds, resting on a bed of bittersweet branches with bright orange-yellow berries. As I move around the table placing a foil-wrapped chocolate turkey at each place setting, a familiar sadness washes over […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":29937,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"ep_exclude_from_search":false,"footnotes":"","_ppma_block_editor_authors":"","_wpscppro_dont_share_socialmedia":false,"_wpscppro_custom_social_share_image":0,"_facebook_share_type":"","_twitter_share_type":"","_linkedin_share_type":"","_pinterest_share_type":"","_linkedin_share_type_page":"","_instagram_share_type":"","_medium_share_type":"","_threads_share_type":"","_bluesky_share_type":"","_mastodon_share_type":"","_selected_social_profile":[],"_wpsp_enable_custom_social_template":false,"_wpsp_social_scheduling":{"enabled":false,"datetime":null,"platforms":[],"status":"template_only","dateOption":"","timeOption":"","customDays":"","customHours":"","customDate":"","customTime":"","schedulingType":""},"_wpsp_active_default_template":true},"categories":[376],"tags":[],"ppma_author":[648],"class_list":["post-22587","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-managing-life-changes"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n