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Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put my broken heart back together again.
My husband once recited this modified version of Humpty Dumpty to express how our “after tragedy” life feels. Like this fragile egg who found himself lying in ruin, Dalton’s death shattered us into miniscule specks. Life felt unsurvivable. After all, piecing pulverized dust particles back together is literally inconceivable.
Although the nursery rhyme captures some fair comparisons, I noticed it held one significant limitation.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men might not be able to restore dust into a functional being, but the King Himself–the one, true King of Kings can. He does His BEST work with dust.
I’m not writing this post because I FEEL the impact of the statement I just made. But because my aching heart needs reminded of just how true it is. I am standing on God’s past behavior which guarantees us of His future behavior. And you can stand on it, too.
To the outside world, it’s tempting to view the redemptive work God is using my husband and me for in schools, communities, and churches as evidence that we are “fixed.” But the truth is, meaning and purpose don’t erase the cracks that remain deep inside. Purpose and meaning give us fuel to press on in spite of the internal, jagged fragments that still jab or even shred us from time to time. This is one of those “times.” Dalton’s absence is jabbing a little stronger right now-the holidays, the length of time since I last heard his voice, the exhaustion, the daily grind that always feels off-kilter, the secondary losses that forever pile up…..
Some days, grief brings me right back to that raw place of, “I just want my Dalton back.”
Perhaps you’re still swimming in the raw pit of grief. Or maybe you’re a little further out like me where grief occasionally drags you back to that raw place. In either case, we can apply this quote from Mark Vroegop, author of Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy.
Hope springs from truth rehearsed.
In all honesty, this post is just as much for me as it is for anyone who might be reading. I’m rehearsing what I KNOW to be true about God and this broken world even though the weight of grief is preventing me from FEELING its reality.
Which brings me to the truth I’m rehearsing right now. God is piecing me back together–speck by speck. Notice the verb tense includes a present participle, indicating the process is ongoing. He can. He does. He is. He will. He won’t stop as long as I’m cooperating. That will hold true for you, too.
The Japanese are known for kintsugi, their symbolic art of repairing broken pottery using lacquer mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. Rather than hiding the cracks, it actually highlights them, honoring the object’s history which makes it even more valuable. It reflects the belief that brokenness can become a place of strength.
Much like this ancient artform, our shattered lives become a vessel worthy of God’s restoration. Our emotional cracks exist as a permanent witness to what we’ve lost and endured. And, at the same time, God reinforces those cracks with His binding agents of love, sustaining grace, faithfulness, strength, and never-ending promises.
Kintsugi workmanship reminds us that our loss doesn’t deem us damaged goods, carrying leadweight emotional baggage for the rest of our lives. Loss leaves room for God to demonstrate His tender healing touch.
The enemy wants our fractured lives to be proof that God wasn’t powerful enough to intervene the way we wanted Him to. God uses our story as evidence of His masterful handiwork that’s carefully strengthening every fragile crack that profoundly shapes the lives we live moving forward.
I don’t know about you, but I sure need some hope today.
In an effort to “spring some hope,” I crafted a more accurate, Hope-filled version of the traditionally playful nursery rhyme.
Our loving family was sitting proudly on a wall
Our loving family was suddenly plunged into a tragic fall
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put our shattered hearts back together again.
BUT thankfully, there was another way
The King of Kings was right there that day
He always gets the final word
Binding our fragments, even though our grief’s not cured
He never leaves, He holds us tight
I’m going to keep reciting this to myself as long as it takes.
I need it.
Grief is hard. Exhausting. Sharp. Disorienting. Untame.
Every time I utter, “God, I can’t do this.”
He whispers back, “I know you can’t. But I can.”
Be still and listen. He wants to whisper it to you, too.
