Sometimes a broken bowl becomes a life lesson

I realized today that God has been testing my patience this week and I’ve been failing every time. I’ve been moody, cranky, mean, and downright ornery most of the time (as opposed to my usual sass and snark, that is). I’ve directed it at others, at myself, and possibly worst of all, at situations over which I have no control. Nothing says “big fun” more than stressing yourself out over a situation you can do nothing to control or change. That’s a big one with me. If I am not stressing over something, I’m not sure what to do with myself. I never pray for patience though because that’s how you end up in a body cast for 6 months. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Monday kicked off my anger and frustration when I walked into my office. Oh, going to work wasn’t causing me heart palpitations, but once I got there I noticed that a bowl on my desk had been broken. My favorite bowl. I was very attached and starting the day off like that wasn’t my idea of a good time.

A few years ago I took a pottery class. I wasn’t good at it and to be honest, after the first class I really wasn’t into it. I was content to make a couple of bowls, say I’d tried something new, and move on. In the end, I made about 5 or 6 pieces and was glad I’d tried, but also realized I wasn’t going to be one of the ladies in that class who kept coming back to each session and learning more and making more. They were so into it and I love that, but it wasn’t for me. I’m not a particularly artistic person, but I enjoy dabbling now and then.

The broken bowl on my desk was one I had made in that class. It was the best of the lot. My favorite piece and the one of which I was most proud and some nighttime cleaner has smashed it and left the rubble on my desk. They didn’t even have the courtesy to leave a note of apology or any acknowledgement of what had happened. 

To add insult to injury, this person also decided it was alright to throw the broken pieces into the trash so I couldn’t even try to repair it. I’m convinced that I could put it back together again. Maybe I could and maybe I couldn’t, but I’ll never know that for sure because I was never given the chance. I’d rather have had the cracked and damaged bowl that was glued back together than to think about those pieces being unceremoniously tossed into the trash. 

I was so angry that a co-worker commented on how she’d never seen me that mad in the 7+ years I’ve worked here. I just wanted to sit in my office and cry and to be honest, I did cry a little bit. That was MY bowl! I made it and I was so proud of it and someone else was careless with it (it sat on my desk in that same location for several years without a problem). I was heartbroken. Now, I realize full well that it is just a thing. An object. I didn’t lose a loved one or a vital body part or anything like that. But I still wanted to cry.

As the week has gone on, I’ve thought about that bowl every day. I can’t bear to throw out the remains of it. It would be a knife to my heart.

Yesterday, I held it in my hands and just looked at it. Ran my fingertips along the rim, careful of the broken pieces and sharp edges. I started trying to picture in my mind what the bowl could become, now that it couldn’t be a bowl anymore. I knew deep inside that I wasn’t willing or able to part with it.

I thought about how sometimes we have to take the wreckage and remains of whatever it is and turn it into something new. Look at it from every angle. Explore all the possibilities. Then create that new thing, whatever it is.

When there is no way for something to be what it once was, do we take the time to imagine what it can become? Or are we like that cleaner, who decided to throw away the pieces without a second thought?

I’m trying to focus on what the bowl can become. How it can be transformed with a little smoothing of the rough edges. Maybe a little paint to cover the broken places. I love that stupid bowl and I’m going to love whatever it morphs into. I’m grateful for the times God takes a few minutes to smooth my rough edges, pick up my broken pieces, and help me figure out what I can become when it’s clear I can no longer be what I once was.