We Are Fragile Things

Yes, our people have done the greatest things.
They’ve explored the deepest trenches,
Climbed the highest mountains,
Even traveled to the moon and back.
But we can be fragile things,
Broken by folly and fault,
Taken by tide and turbulence,
Wrought by death and accident.
And we can be mended,
Healed by truth and trust,
Bandaged by season and time,
Recovered by friends and family.
We are fragile things
Broken by loss and fixed with love.

The Japanese embrace an art called kintsukuroi; which is the art of repairing pottery with silver or gold believing the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. I love that.

This world will inevitably break us. Not even one 1peter1-7of us  will escape this earth unharmed. And so knowing the probability of wholeness lives outside human grasp,  the focus becomes restoration. God is doing that in my life. He is restitching the inner fabric of brokenness that I didn’t trust as possibility. Days and months passed and I was bound by anger and deep deep hurt. Anger at God for not breaking the cycle. Anger at God for not intervening. And Hurt for my brother. Mostly, hurt for him. But I hurt too. I also imagined my Nana’s hurt to relive it. . Her cry to God rings in my ears to this day.

Then, there is my mom and dad. They mourn the loss of their 26 year old son. The babe carried in my mothers womb, nursed and loved. rocked and prayed over. Raised and cherished. GONE. My father had a son. There was a boy who he loved more than he loved himself. So how can we declare joy is ahead amidst the ravishing waves of a death??


It took me quite some time to appreciate His faithfulness. The initial break was hell. I wont lie. But it was the exhaustion in the days-weeks-months from a very real torturous grief that rocked my faith to its core. My anger with God catapulted a very sinister perspective of life and death. I questioned Him and religion as a whole.

Because HOW or WHY would God allow this to happen? Why not me? break me, God. Not Justin. Hurt me. Destroy me God, not Justin.

But here is a truth I shout- not in anger- but assurance. He is God. And I am not. He gives. And He takes away. And STILL, blessed be the name of The Lord. Justin’s spirit is in each of us that loved him. That spirit is more alive today than yesterday because it now dances at the feet of the Lord. Where there was pain and destruction, there is now wholeness that we yet know.

Published by The Ancard Abode

I'm a proud wife and mother. A grateful daughter and sister. A lover of the beach and views from the mountains. I'm a social media junkie and writer.

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