In the Japanese culture there exists an ancient practice called kintsugi. This 500 year old practice centers around restoring a broken piece of pottery, once deemed worthy of being discarded, with a lacquer mixture that contains gold, silver, or platinum (Smith, S. 2015). The purpose….to take something old or broken and to find the beauties in those often unwanted or misfit pieces. Right now, I feel like a piece of that broken pottery…I feel that there is little beauty inside and that much of me is something to which most cannot relate. And what’s worse….I feel that there’s no restoration for me…that there’s no silvery or golden lacquer mixture that could even begin to fill every crack and fracture located within my heart and in my being. My soul is so battered that the brokenness is wreaking havoc in every part of my life. It seems like the harder I try to keep going, the harder it IS to keep going. I am broken…despite what you see on the outside….on the inside, I’m just broken and there are no other words to describe what my heart feels.

As I was talking to my friend, Jessica, this past week, I discussed with her my struggles with faith in the midst of Aaron’s loss. She asked if I had ever read Habbakuk….my first response was, “I’m sure I have at some point.” But she was more honest than I was…and said, “Well I never had. But what you are talking about sounds so much like the book of Habbakuk.” At this point, my interest was piqued….someone in the Bible actually questioned God’s intentions and His silence…you mean, they actually complained about what was happening before them and the lack of action? Really? So….what did I do….I went to read the book of Habbakuk….the one I had never really read:

Habbakuk 1:1 – How long, Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?

I have felt for months and months that my cries for help haven’t been heard….I have felt so alone in my cries that I have distanced myself….from my faith, from people, from much of my family, and from myself. I feel that I don’t relate to anyone or anything anymore….and I don’t know how to find my way back to any of it anymore. My broken pieces have distanced “me” from myself…further shattering my world into smaller and smaller shards of what used to be….fracturing my heart even further…if that’s even possible. I keep thinking to myself that this grief that I feel will eventually grow easier to deal with….that I will learn to better cope….but so far, that hasn’t been the case. There have been times when I have felt some relief in the pain…but it comes back like a thief in the night, stealing the hope for some sense of normalcy. I know that things will never be normal again, but still, I hope for some sense of it….I long for it….I long for days when the pain isn’t so intense….I long for others to understand, but then again I, in no way, want them to understand. It’s a crazy existence after the loss of a child.

It’s hard enough to experience this roller coaster of emotions yourself…but to watch your other child experience the same sense of brokenness from losing her brother has been very difficult. And one of the worst parts about it…I am helpless in her struggle. I watch and I see her pain….her struggle to gain her footing in her new world…all while transitioning into adulthood herself. Watching this brings me back to Habbakuk…

Habbakuk 1:1 – How long, Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?

But this time, I replace “I” with “we”. “How long, Lord, must we call for help, but you do not listen?”

Often, what I have heard is silence…..and that silence is difficult to accept. With that silence comes anger….and the brokenness splinters even more. And I then feel that I have become a broken piece of humanity that is unworthy of restoration.

But when I look at the answer to Habbakuk’s complaint, I see some semblance of hope..

Habakkuk 1:5 – Look at the nations and watch— and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told.”

I don’t know what that answer means, but it brings me some hope that God is going to do something for me and for my daughter…that at some point, He will restore our brokenness with His love, comfort, and peace….His golden and silvery lacquer that will find the beauty in our brokenness….the beauty in our ashes.  Right now….that hope is a sliver of light….a grain of mustard seed….but at least it’s a seed of hope, no matter how small…it’s there.

Thank you, Jessica for guiding me back to the Book…and to His promises.