Greeks have been known to throw plates at weddings to display abundance. But at eight years old, when my heart got smashed like one of them, we weren’t celebrating holy matrimony. Just the opposite, in fact, as divorce shattered my parents’ marriage and our home.
That was my first taste of heartbreak. And that’s when I began writing. Putting my tears into words became a path to comfort and healing. Four decades later, and one of my favorite gifts is still journaling. I have almost two boxes filled with notebooks and journals that document the joys and the pains of my story.
While I enjoy the joys MUCH MORE than the pains, I have to confess that I’ve grown the most through the sorrows and challenges. And one of the most rewarding aspects of life has been when I’ve been able to encourage others in their struggles by sharing what I’ve learned by plodding up similar peaks.
“Maybe it’s a better thing
A better thing
To be more than merely innocent
But to be broken then redeemed by love”
Andrew Peterson, from lyrics of “Don’t You Want to Thank Someone?”
My conversion to Christianity as a college freshman was dramatic. I went from being a hollow, lonely, sad, party girl to having a life that was full of meaning, and deep-seated joy and hope, in spite of often hard situations.
Shame often reared it’s ugly head, telling me how unworthy I was because of the lifestyle I’d led before coming to Christ. On top of that, a history of rejection, ridicule, and my inability to measure up to the expectations of anyone around me, often made it hard for me to believe the truth I read in God’s Word, that God actually loved me.
When I came across 2 Corinthians 5:17, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away. Behold, all things have become new,” it was like God pouring His hope to the deepest places in my heart and soul.
I saw that He really had made me new in Him, and He was making me new. I was no longer who I’d been.
Oftentimes in my struggle with sin, I would think how I wished God would just wave a magic wand over me and make me no longer have to fight the same old battles.
A wise friend remarked, when I shared that sentiment with her, that if God had done that, it would make it hard for me to love Jesus. I’d be thanking myself that I was such a good person. And it would be hard for me to lead other thirsty sinners to the Water of Life if I wasn’t cotton-mouthed myself.
As Jesus said, “It’s the poor who need a doctor, not those who are well.”
God used her input as a turning point to help lie to be honest about my struggles. We have an enemy who loves for us to feel isolated–like we’re the only ones going through things.
But the reality is that our hard times and challenges are not unique. Others have been through the same or similar things. And Jesus was tempted in every way, just as we are, yet without sin. (I Cor. 10:13, Heb. 7:24-25)
And when we share our hard times with others, we give others an opportunity to pray for us, and God uses their prayers to accomplish His purposes. We also give others an opportunity to minister to us, which blesses them to be used of God. And then as He comforts us in our affliction, He uses that comfort to enable us to comfort others. (2 Cor. 1:2-4)
The other thing is that as a young Christian, I saw other believers who exhibited profound love, joy, peace, patience, faith, and hope in the midst of situations even harder than mine. I remember praying that God would grow me. But deep down I didn’t want it to hurt. The thought of more pain scared me.
When I read Hannah Hurnard’s Hind’s Feet on High Places a couple of years after becoming a Christian, I thought I should change my name to M.A., for Much Afraid, the name of her protagonist. But the command God repeats more than any other in His Word is “do not fear,” and He says the reason not to fear is because He is with us.
I’ve learned that God uses Pain and Sorrow to grow us. He breaks us so that people can see His light and beauty shining through.
A clay dish or pot is one of the most fragile containers a person can use. Drop it or hit it wrong, or let it fall on the ground, or slam your trunk door on it, or if it slips out of your fingers into an empty sink, or an iron skillet falls on top of it, and it shatters.And yet, God compares us, as His children to clay pots. He made us from dust.
“For God, who said, “Let there be light in the darkness,” has made this light shine in our hearts so we could know the glory of God that is seen in the face of Jesus Christ. We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure.This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.” 2 Cor. 4:6-7
But if you put a light in a clay pot, you can’t see it. UNLESS there are cracks or holes in the pot. So God breaks us open so people can see Jesus in us.
And He loves to restore ruined places and ruined people.“Indeed, the LORD will comfort Zion; He will comfort all her waste places And her wilderness He will make like Eden, And her desert like the garden of the LORD; Joy and gladness will be found in her, Thanksgiving and sound of a melody.” Isaiah 51:3
“Then they will rebuild the ancient ruins, They will raise up the former devastations; And they will repair the ruined cities, The desolations of many generations.” Isaiah 61:4
The Japanese have captured this idea of beauty from brokenness in their art form, kintsugi. The idea is that rather than hiding the cracks, the artist illumines them in silver or gold to show them and how they make the object more beautiful than before.
After my son Will used kintsugi to restore one of our plates, I knew he’d also given birth to the idea behind Redeemed to Redeem.
Because of how God restores us, we don’t have to be ashamed of our cracks. Indeed, I heard a pastor say that as Christians, we’re no longer struggling to be free, but we’re free to struggle. Because our cracks have been redeemed by Christ–because when God looks at us, He doesn’t see our cracks and blemishes but the beauty of His own Son, we are free to be open about how His beauty gloriously restores our cracks.
And that beauty, because it shines forth the beauty of Christ, is even better than if we’d never been broken to begin with.