Shattered

In case any of you were looking for a tangible  representation of what grief looks like, this is it – the main picture on this post, of a shattered glass. We’ve all seen those “your mind on drugs” commercials, or the “your lungs when smoking” before and after’s. Well, consider this “your heart/mind/soul/world/everything following searing loss” visualization. 

Ironically, a few weeks ago (of course the day before the memory of a significant date in our relationship) I completely shattered one of the most sentimental items I have from Sam – my beloved Wonder Woman wine glass. I don’t choose my words lightly here. This glass didn’t simply break. It literally shattered. We don’t have a lot of meaningful material items, as we were both more about experiences than things. But for me, being the sentimental one, this shattered glass cut deep. No pun intended. 

You can fix broken, but you can’t fix shattered. Unfortunately, that’s what grief and loss does – it’s doesn’t simply break you, it shatters you. I couldn’t find all these pieces even if I tried. I’m sure over the next few weeks, I’ll probably step on stray pieces that seem to pop up out of nowhere. They will cut, hurt like hell, and probably bleed. Broken things do that. And even though it seems I may have found another missing piece, the truth is, the whole is still gone. You can’t glue this back together. Even if I tried to restore it to its original form, it will never meet the previous standards. The original beauty now has the permanent markings of destruction. It might function, but not as good as it did before. No amount of glue can make this what it once was. There’s no coming back from this. There’s no way to restore what’s shattered and missing. 

There is, however, a way to rebuild. 

While the word restore means bringing back to a previous state, the word rebuild is literally defined as “to build again or afresh; to dismantle and reassemble with new parts”. Read that again – to reassemble with NEW PARTS. We’re not gluing pieces back together. Attempting to restore this to the previous state would only lead to more sorrow and frustration, a constant reminder of the wholeness that once was, but will never be. However, it CAN be rebuilt into something new. Even if I don’t want to be the one to do it.

My friend made me save all the shattered pieces I could gather up. I have no hope this can turn into something worth looking at. I have no vision for what this can become. But he does. While I’m too blinded by grief to see how anything good can come of this ever, he has a different perspective. He sees something I don’t. So I have them collected half-heartedly in a bag, to hand over and let him rebuild them into something completely different, something my brain can’t comprehend, but something that maybe – just maybe – could be as meaningful and beautiful as the original.  

In grief, we’re shattered. Missing. No longer whole. We hear the words “healing” thrown around alot, but the truth is, we’ll never heal from this. At least, not in the way other things are healed and restored. Part of the shattered pieces of our hearts are gone, and you can’t just throw something else in there and hope for the best. In grief, healing looks like a complete rebuilding from the ground up. Even if we don’t want to be the ones to do it.

Like my friend who is adamant that there is redemption in the destruction if I would just hand over the pieces, God is standing by, asking to do the same thing with our shattered hearts and lives. We may have zero vision for what can be done with this ugly mess, but if we hand over the parts and pieces salvaged from the wreckage, we may just see Him design something completely different. A life, a person, a reality, that looks nothing like what it once was, that can’t even be compared, but that can still be filled with purpose and beauty. God is a Master Carpenter. He thrives in rebuilding from ruins and ashes and dust. After all, that’s what he made us from in the first place. 

Sometimes the only way to redeem your annihilated life is to give God all the shattered, jagged pieces, step back, and let Him form you into something entirely different. Trusting that what was once beautiful, although completely transformed, can be beautiful and purposeful once again.