In Japan, there is a curious form of art called kintsugi, the art of mending broken pottery with liquid gold. Once completed, luminous seams of gold fill the conspicuous cracks of the ceramic, giving a unique appearance to each “repaired” piece. This exceptional method celebrates each artifact’s uniqueness by emphasizing its fractures and breaks instead of hiding or disguising them. In fact, kintsugi often makes the repaired piece even more beautiful than the original, revitalizing it and giving it a second life.

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Kintsugi is the very definition of contradiction. Broken pottery, by itself, would quickly be thrown in the garbage. It is worthless and unappealing, especially to an art enthusiast. Gold is just the opposite. It is valuable and alluring–even worth fighting for. How curious it is to blend the worthless and the priceless into one piece of pottery. Instead of discarding the broken pottery or simply repairing it, this 400-year-old technique highlights the "scars” with gold.

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In kintsugi, the pottery becomes valuable BECAUSE it was broken.

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Did you know that in your brokenness, God can create something exquisite and resilient? Like the pottery used in kintsugi, we have all experienced brokenness in one way or another. We all have scars. Many of us have tried to hide our scars, hoping no one will see them; some have denied our scars by pretending everything is fine. None of us want the cracks, but the cracks are what make the masterpiece. Your beauty lies in your brokenness.

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My own life is marked by broken pieces and deep scars. If it had been up to me, I would have thrown out every busted piece of my pot until none of it remained. I tried for years to ignore or hide my brokenness, but those pesky cracks were inescapable. I’m so thankful God had other plans. He picked up each hopeless, shattered part and lovingly mended me, piece by piece, with His love and grace.

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The ability to self-reflect is a gift. Reflection helps us see how everything in life, both the messy and the marvelous, somehow become a powerful testimony of the faithfulness of God. As I reflect on the messiness of my life, I no longer see just the mess; I see the hands of God crafting something beautiful.

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Innocence Lost

“Leighzy”–that’s what my mom affectionately called me. This was a loving rendition of my middle name, “Leigh,” with which my mom christened me when I was young. I tended to be overconfident and a bit abrasive and my mouth often got me into trouble. But I loved lavishly and unsuspectingly, with no fear or trepidation. Innocent.

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I was raised in church, reading Bible stories and learning of God’s goodness and strength. I reveled in the simple, ordinary men and women in the Bible whom God fashioned into warriors. With God, I truly believed all things were possible.

I knew I was created by a good God who loved me unconditionally, without restraint. I knew Him from a young age, as though we’d made memories in times past. I welcomed His songs of love and pride over me, as it says in the Bible, “. . . He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs” (Zephaniah 3:17).

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I knew I was His. But there was a fight to be had to cling tightly to the One who had knit me together in my mother’s womb, where I was created in love and grace.

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Children learn about the world with eyes wide open in curiosity, gladly taking in every drop of wonder. I too soaked it all in, through eyes of innocence. But when you soak, everything is absorbed–both the lovely and the terrible.

The worst of my abuse happened when I was four years old. I lay in a bed not my own, exhausted from soaking in the wonders of my new surroundings. My family had flown to another state to stay with extended relatives for a week. It was Christmas, and we were glad to get some special time with family.

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Family

What a complex word. It stirs thoughts of comfort: warm embraces, words of affection, and gentleness. After all, that’s what God intended when He created family. A place to be accepted. Loved. Protected.

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I experienced this adoration and acceptance from my parents–so much love. Affection and kindness were their daily gifts to me. Their warm hugs and gentle kisses made my soul secure. I knew I was safe in their embrace. Even their smell brought me profound comfort.

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But the following few nights, as I lay my head on my pillow, neither my parents nor I knew the danger I was in. My view of the world would quickly change. It would no longer be worthy of my trust or confidence. My door creaked open slowly and methodically in the shadow of night. Footsteps fell on groaning floorboards. My blood pumped and my heart pounded.

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Fear. This was our first introduction, and this meeting solidified our companionship for many years to come. As my door slowly opened, I saw a man I thought I could trust. He was family. But he was different in the light of day. As the darkness appeared, so did the evil within him.

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He crept into my room and took me from the illusive safety of my bed, muzzling my cries with a drug-soaked rag that put me into a deep, involuntary sleep. He carried my wilted body down a hallway, and out the door to a car waiting in the driveway. From there, I was delivered to a destination void of hope.

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When I woke up, I was in an unfamiliar place. As my eyes slowly blinked open, I was terrified. I had never witnessed such evil. There were so many people: men, women . . . and innocent children. Many were dressed in strange costumes, and they were interacting sexually with each other. It was a carnival of evil. Here, men and women sought pleasure and power from Satan, the great deceiver. They reveled in his façade of supremacy and control. His mystery was captivating to them, and they desired his power more than anything in the world.

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A Terrifying Reality

I am convinced that the only way to truly know and love someone is to understand the mess they have experienced in their life. To understand the mess helps us fully appreciate and celebrate the victories. For you to fathom how bound I was by shame and fear (and many other things), you must first understand the mess I was delivered from. So, here I am, inviting you into my mess.

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… TO BE CONTINUED

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