Kintsugi.

Kintsugi (golden joinery) is an art form from Japan. It is the repair of broken pottery by mending the broken areas with a lacquer dusted or mixed with gold, silver, or platinum. It can also be known as kintsukuroi (golden repair). The concept is to embrace flaws, or broken pieces, and make them beautiful. I suppose I could stop there. It speaks for itself.

But, I won’t.

God as the potter, we as the clay. Shaped, molded, created. This is not a new allusion in faith. From a lump of clay, He shapes us, creates something useful, puts us through fire and tests to strengthen us. Sometimes in the creating process, we are broken down and start over. This is not kintsugi.

Kintsugi is post-fire. It is a finished piece that has a flaw or somehow was broken. Once clay has been hardened, finished, it cannot be molded again.

Phillippians 1:6 – Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Christ Jesus. (KJV)

Psalm 147:3 – He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds. (NLT)

It’s no surprise that one of the after-effects of loss is brokenness. Your heart is broken. Your world feels broken. Your plans, your dreams, your future. All the things you wanted in life, they all feel broken. And, in some ways they are. Your home feels different. Your plans change. Your family, and friends, change. The big things change. The little things change. I think the little things are the hardest to face.

A part of you understands that your wedding anniversary will feel different. Their birthday. The annual marking of THAT day. Family gatherings. It’s the little moments that catch you off guard. You will brush your teeth and your eyes will fall on their toothbrush. Do you leave it? Do you throw it away? Getting ready for church. You used to try to match them a little. Now, it’s just you. What to do with their clothes? Eating dinner. You used to prepare it together, or you used to occasionally cook their favorite meal. Do you cook it again? Or file it away in the “Past” folder. Watching TV. Can you watch the series that the two of you were working on? You look over at the empty chair and suddenly the living room seems so big and empty. You take your daily pills and vitamins, and their med bottles are no longer there (or they are because you can’t find the heart to dispose of them just yet). It’s the little things.

How broken they feel. How broken YOU feel. And you are, but not in a useless way. It’s a shattering, yes. Truth be told, it can be a devastation. But it isn’t a destruction. You’re hurting. Can feel alone, scared, and scarred. You aren’t alone. In the beginning, I felt very alone. I felt that no one understood. I didn’t even understand. Some days the hurt was unbearable. Some days it can still feel that way. It does get easier to carry. It doesn’t go away. There’s no end in the grief experience. You just learn to walk with it.

You take a step, and then another. You read a book, follow a podcast, attend a group. Take a breath, and then another. Face a milestone date, and then another. THAT date comes around, and then again. You face it, have a fall apart, pick yourself up, and do it again. The pieces are still broken. But not useless. One day, you look around and realize that you’re still here. You’re still going. The pieces are still broken, but they’re coming together. Where you once dreaded their birth day, now you eat their favorite foods (crab legs and chocolate cake) and share laughter and tears with the ones that loved them. You hear music that they liked and it makes you smile. The red and white Evers Electric truck that once devastated you, now feels like a “Hello”.

Maybe you find a peace with your tomorrows. Maybe you resolve to fly solo, and find ways to enjoy your existence. Maybe you find new love. You establish new routines. You discover a new series to watch. You travel somewhere you’ve never been. You look back at the broken pieces and find beauty in the cracks. Somehow, they’ve come together. Your heart feels better. You find yourself smiling more. You still miss them. You’re still wearing the backpack. But there’s golden moments in there. There are still smiles to see and share. Still memories to be made with friends and family.

You ARE important. And not alone.