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I am a broken person. Or I was.

There is an ancient art stemming from Japan called kintsugi (pronounced 金継ぎ -- haha -- you figure it out). When vases or pottery is broken, the pieces are carefully retrieved. Using the sap from a specific type of tree, the vase is reassembled. A paint made of real gold is applied to the sap for beauty. In truth, the paint is used to "emphasize" the brokenness so it is not hidden.

I believe that type of repair has been done with me.

My fathers broke me. My mother broke me. My mother watched others break me. My unrealistic dreams of perfection broke me. The murder of a baby broke me. The betrayal of my sibling broke me. My pride broke me.

And Jesus carefully saved all my pieces, carefully reassembled, and applied a precious coating of real gold onto each seam. I am useful and I am beautiful and I am unique.

Do you know how many children go to foster care each year? (Me either, but we don't have enough foster homes for all the kids who need help.)

3 out of 5 girls will be sexually violated before they reach adulthood. You probably know quite a few or are one of them. We try to look the other way and hide that flaw.

Any idea what is really going on in the homes of children? My mom was a school teacher and my stepdad later became a physician. People probably thought everything was super in our home.

Do we ever really know what brokenness looks like?

I do. I am a broken person. And I am more useful and more comfortable to the world around me because of it. My flaws are exposed so I am familiar to some when they see into my cracks. I am real. I am loved.

I know that you are all those things, too; if not now, soon.

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