Clarity in Cloudiness

I am not entirely sure what to write on. I have millions of memories and even more experiences, full of laughter, joy, trauma, and good old fashioned sorrow. I know I need to begin logging it all. Perhaps I’ll tell my story. I can’t say it is much different from anyone else’s. I used to think that I was one of the special ones. One of those people that was once described to me in school during a study of The Great Gatsby. I was meant to be something! But as I have grown, and experienced so many places, people, and adventures, I see that we are all made of fear and sadness, with an innate desire to both stand out and be accepted and loved at the same time. This may not be everyone. Although I truly believe that the people who claim to “hate people”, just haven’t found the people and the love that they needed. We haven’t chosen the ones that we were meant to. We want to see the best in others. We want a hero! But I found that once I accepted the fact that people fail-always, I have learned to find joy, to find freedom. Seems an ironic idea. I would imagine that remaining in that idea of hyper independence and self reliance, as well as the inability to trust, would give way to a very sad and lonely life. But it enables me to give grace to those who have wronged me, and to those who can never understand me. It also allows me to give myself grace, where I have always, in every way, struggled. Perhaps I will be proven wrong some day. Perhaps all I want is to be proven wrong by some earthly attachment that will love me how I have always needed to be loved. But our broken world assures that will not be. I know I sound sad while writing this, but I am not. I might just sound hopeless, but I have more hope that most who have been through what I have. Again, I am not special. I’m sure there is someone else who experienced death as much as I have, and in all the ways that I have. It isn’t only possible, but probable.

Some days, I struggle with detachment. Some days, I reach for it. But most days, I get to live. I get to live with the idea that I have known so much love in my life, to be able to feel such sorrow. I get to live with such love and hope in my heart and my soul, that I still look forward. I still move forward, with a seemingly incomplete heart. My heart is a mosaic of all I have met and experienced. I have pieces taken from me with love I have lost. There are pieces placed, from those that I have learned from and have blessed my life. I have pieces taken from moments of pure, untouched, experienced emotion in momentary “glimpses”. My figurative heart that shines with the mix of antique China from  floral tea cups and saucers, handmade pottery of molded clay and metals, softly painted watercolor paper and stained glass of various bright pastel colors: all beautifully placed, and held together. A heart that looks like one of those broken bowls I saw on a meme describing Japanese Kintsugi, repaired with gold! I get to carry this heavy and beautiful existence until the gold that fills the space in between lifts it from me.

My savior is the reason my heart has not shattered. He is the reason I am still alive, though all I have been through. He has healed every broken piece and given me the strength. My heart is not what it once was. It will never again be what he created for me. But my artist has been alongside me, holding my hand, holding my heart, shaping, molding, decorating, and mending for 42 years. Have I tried to take away the art supplies? Absolutely. Time and time again, I have assumed responsibility for my own hurt. I have blamed. I have directed. I have scapegoated. I have projected. I have sought in all the wrong places. I have put my heart in all the wrong hands. I have tried so many times, to give to anyone but the only one who can mend what He created; what He gave to me: the gold. What grace He has given to me. What beauty He has shown me in my pain. What immense hope in the knowledge and confidence that this is not my home. The incredibly real knowledge that this life in finite, it will all end, much sooner that we realize. But the faith, the blessed assurance that if He can make my heart of broken, fragile pieces into something more beautiful that words, what lies ahead after this life, is simply unfathomable. That is hope. That is love-a love that reminds me that dessert is the best part! A love that reminds me that good things, the best things, are worth waiting for. A love that reminds me of how very precious I am to Him. Though I am confident that He already sees and knows my heart, I hope I get to show it to Him. I hope we get to talk, reminisce, laugh and cry together about all of the pieces. I can only imagine how amazingly intricate it will look by the

So for now, with my eyes open, and my heart forever changing, I will live with what I have now. I will live with the joy and beauty that has mended me. I will live forward, with all of my mended pieces..

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