My husband is not well today, so I am taking care of him. Since he seems to be sleeping well, I decided that it would be a good day to be artsy. As I was looking through my crafting supplies (and cleaning out the containers) I kept finding pieces of things: ribbons, earrings, bracelets, fabric etc. My first inclination was to throw them away, but I was immediately rebuked by the Great Artist! He reminded me that some of my greatest creations have come from broken pieces.
I stopped moving.
This week has been an extremely difficult one. I’m an introvert so my suffering looks different to a lot of people. When I was younger, it looked like disregard, contention, and conceit. Truth is I was so depressed that I couldn’t see myself in the future. I wanted to be the person who always bounced back and was unbothered by the utter foolishness that was my life, but I couldn’t. While people were assuming that I was “stuck up” and couldn’t speak, I was secretly in fear that if I spoke, all of my pain would come out. I wasn’t stuck up, I had been trying to deal with the thoughts of being molested. I was dealing with the visions of my parents violently fighting. I was dealing with the physical abuse inflicted upon me by an older sibling that involved: hot irons, fists, knives, and unlimited word curses. I was a gifted straight A (borderline genius) student, so I had to be stuck up.
After my parents divorced, it was tight! We moved from place-to place-to place-to place and I was stuck in between wanting to be with my father and being guilted to stay with my mother. I hated not having lights, water, food, and a consistent place to call home. I hated the free lunch and I hated that we had to be in a different line to get it. I hated having to lie and tell my friends that I wasn’t hungry when in fact, I was starving and very aware that lunch might be the only time that I would eat that day. I hated that when my friends would come up with ideas about clothes, that I would have to lie about why mine was different. I hated the smell of clothes that were sink washed. I was a gifted singer, so I had to be stuck up.
I hated that nobody drove me to college and helped me decorate my dorm. I really hated that I couldn’t admit that I had no one to support me financially or emotionally so I had to pretend that nothing was wrong. I hated that when I was at college, after I was kidnapped, beaten, and raped by a stranger, that I had to pretend that “college just wasn’t for me” when I was really too scared to continue. But hey, I was smarter than everyone else, so I had to be stuck up.
I hated that no one talked to me about dating. Yes, most said that I was cute, but that could never drown out the voice of a parent telling you how ugly you were. That same parent would later share how, even at the age of three, I thought that I was better than and smarter than everyone and how nobody would EVER like or love me. I hated that I dated and married (my first marriage) a broken person who broke me more. I hated that others saw me through the lens of my accomplishments, but never took the time to “see” me. I also hated that that bottle of pills didn’t end it.
When life decides to replay the footage of how broken you were and you feel like throwing your whole life away, remember this: you were fearfully and wonderfully made by the Great Crafter’s hand and He alone knows the plans that He has for you. Life may not have been and still may not be easy, but there is a greater purpose.
See, we are not unlike that scattered and tattered mishmash of crafting items in my tote. And God just wanted me to tell you that in spite all of your broken pieces, He still considers you one of His greatest creations.