Beauty in the breakables

Ceramic and porcelain.  Tin or resin or glass.  It is amazing to me that these raw materials, once moldable in someone’s hands, can come to shape the memories of our lives.  Their final sculptures the embodiment of our hopes, our dreams, our losses, our joy.

We all have them.  They are there, on a high shelf, away from little fingers. Or tucked inside a curio cabinet, securely locked.   They are the sacred things that have so marked the journey of our lives.  Small fragments of their creator’s imagination, and yet monumental reminders of our milestones.

We can look at them and instantly be transported to a moment in time - a wedding, a dream fulfilled, a birth, a death.

And that one small cross, that oval frame, that figurine can wrench more emotion from us than the best Hollywood screenplay or award-winning novel.  For this isn’t the stuff of fiction.  We have lived it.

We know each plea of the heart, each drop of blood, sweat and tears, every prayer whispered.  We know which prayers were answered and which paths God chose for us instead.   And we remember - the heat of the kiln, the darkness of the forest, the glory of sunshine on our face in the morning.

In my home, I can stand in one spot, and take a journey through decades in just an instant.  A lover’s gift, a sweet grandmother’s words, the birth of a first child, death of second.   Sorrow turned over to God, hope born anew.  New life.

It’s not just about motherhood; it’s about life.   The life that formed you before motherhood, the life you thought was preparing you for motherhood, the birth and death and kiln and forest and sunshine that really is motherhood.    It’s who you were, who inspired you, who you aspired to become.   It’s what you dreamed, what you never would have chosen, what you do with all of it in the end.

It’s an endless collection of crystal and china, silver and gold,  blown glass and porcelain memories. Breakable and delicate, strong and withstanding all together in one sweep of your eyes.   This is you.

It’s your journey of motherhood, your journey of life.    It’s not perfect; it’s not always easy, but it’s yours.   This is your story.   And though at times, it seems mundane and other times too painful to bear, there are also sprinklings of joy, lessons learned, glimpses of God. 

With each new piece, you are given a gift, to know more of what it is to empathize, to comfort, to endure, to inspire, to love.

When you use these gifts as God leads, someday, others will stand back and look at all the keepsakes you placed upon your shelf.  And though to the outside eye they may be lumps of silver or porcelain or glass, the people with whom you shared your gifts will smile.   For your story will now be part of theirs.  It won’t be perfect, but it will be beautiful.