A beloved ceramic bowl is broken. Instead of throwing the pieces away, a Japanese artist patiently uses lacquer and gold to rejoin the pieces in a meditative practice called Kintsugi. What was broken now becomes part of the story of the bowl, and is told and retold each time it is used.
A coat is patched carefully, stitched back to usefulness. The tear is lovingly accentuated, instead of hidden. The tear is part of the history of the garment now, instead of a shameful thing--it shows that the rest of the coat was worth keeping.
When I was embroiled in my first divorce in my twenties, a friend of my father expressed her sadness that I had to face it, because it was so hard to do. He held up his work worn hand and asked her what she saw. "Scar tissue," she answered.
"That's what she's made of," he said, gesturing at me. "She'll be ok."
It was a tacit acknowledgment of my strength. I hid those scars for a long time, wishing that I could be like other people, cut from whole cloth instead of patched together with pain.
Now, I am going back over the old scars, and loving them. They are part of my history, and show that the whole being I am was worth the saving.
What's the smallest thing you will do today to rejoin your scattered, torn or painful places in love?
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