As a mosaic artist, I work with glass and other materials to (hopefully) create something beautiful out of thousands of individual broken pieces. When I read today’s Sabbath Revival post, originally published by Maralise in November 2006, I was struck by the analogy to my work with broken glass. And I also thought about the poem Breaking Before You Bloom By Ollin Morales:
It is clear to me that in the transition from Winter to Spring, nature must shatter.
Since we, ourselves, are a part of nature, our own transition from life’s Winter to life’s Spring must begin with a type of shattering as well.
We must break.
We must yawn and stretch. Our insides must be torn asunder. Our minds must pop. Our intestines must squeeze. Our eyes must bulge.
Before our new selves can bloom, we must explode, we must break, we must shatter, we must thaw…
The first step down a new path must, evidently, cut away at the old path—and that cutting hurts. It takes a lot out of us, and we are exhausted.
What can comfort us at this point of our journey is knowing that this is all normal: nature goes through a similar process in the beginning of Spring.
Everything in nature breaks before it blooms. The frozen pond shatters before it can flow freely again. The bud of a rose cracks before it opens. The sun stabs at the moon right before it rises.
So it is with nature, so it is with you.
Every new chapter in your life must begin with a break between two pages. A blank space with no words, no sentences, no paragraphs, no development in your story—just a long break that interrupts all action in an intrusive and almost jarring manner.
This break is wide and it is long and, yes, as your eyes float across this break, you may be filled with worry and anxiety as to what will happen next.
But do not worry.
In the Spring of your life, when things begin to break, it does not spell doom. It just means that a new you is about to bloom.
If you are feeling broken, I hope today’s post helps!
~~~~~
I had just released the belt on my son’s car seat when I heard him utter a phrase no mother wants to hear. It wasn’t “Mom, I think I’m going to throw up” or “Look mom, I cut my hair (and my brother’s too!)” or “I hate you.”
Instead he said, “Nobody wants me around.” And frankly, it’s true. My oldest son is a bright, relentlessly obdurate and effusive child who, for lack of a better word, is difficult. In the nightmare that is the reality of my fears, his future seems like a very delicate piece of glass, easily shattered but hopefully reflecting a thousand points of light.
For these days you often look past me,
Moving away along paths unfamiliar.
I long to follow, to wedge myself
Into the space between you and your fears,
Between you and the world,
Between you and your sins–
But this is holy ground:
Private space between you and your God.
–excerpt from Darlene Young’s Alex, 9
I ponder the times that my own glass has broken into meaningless pieces only to be crafted back together into something less perfect but more beautiful. And yet, thinking of the future of my child, broken is never a word I want associated with it.
I wonder, have you been broken? If so, what have you made with the pieces?
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