You may have noticed this already, but I don’t write deep, faith-based posts very often. Okay, practically never. But it’s not because I CAN’T, it’s because it seems so fake when I do it. But faith-based blogs are very popular, and there seems to be a formula for doing it, so maybe I should give it a shot.
Step 1: Find a innoculous story, make it seems bigger and more important. Also, use bold text.
A few years ago, I found a lovely vase at a yard sale. It was hidden among the odds and ends, easy to overlook, but something about it called to me. I picked it up, taken with its patina. Turning it over, I was happy to find that it was marked, Hull. Sometimes the most beautiful things are found in the most unusual places.
Unsure what to do with it, I finally put it in my bathroom and filled it with seashells – a man made piece of pottery, filled with God-made shells. A few years ago, my father was visiting. He got up in the middle of the night and made his way to the bathroom. A few minutes later, I heard a terrible sound, like glass breaking. I went to the door and met my father wearing a sheepish look* on his face. He’d knocked the vase to the floor and the tile was littered with hundreds of small shells. I assured him it was fine. Every fall does not result in damage.
A few weeks ago, my daughter was in the bathroom, and once again I heard the sound of hundreds of small shells hitting the tile. When I entered the bathroom, she looked at me with wide eyes. The vase lay in the floor, a large piece broken and beside it. I assured her it was fine. Broken things can often be healed. We picked up the pieces together** and I put the piece back in the vase. The small crack was barely noticeable.
Last week, my mother was in town. Once again, I heard the sound of a hundred shells hitting the tile. I opened the door to find my mother standing over the pieces. I assured her it was fine. The damage we think we’ve caused, is often the result of previous brokenness. I sent her on her way, then bent to pick up the shells once more.*** As I put the piece back in the vase, and moved it to the counter, it occurred to me that it was a lot like life.
Tie it all together in a grand way:
Often we’re like that vase. Our messy lives intersect with others and we’re knocked to the floor. We may look the same, but there are tiny cracks, cracks that can be healed with time, or made worse, depending on who we come into contact with. Sometimes, the only way to be healed is to move.
Finally, for the big finale, use a soft-focus photograph to illustrate your point, and hammer it home.
Even in our brokenness, we hold God’s handiwork.
I hope you’ve been blessed by this post. And the fact that I don’t do them often.
*He actually looked annoyed, not sheepish.
** She didn’t help. As if.
*** I picked them up hours later, after the yard sales.