Episode 1: Beauty in the Broken Places – Transcription

You can listen to the full episode here.

[Carrie Ann]

Hi there, and thank you for listening to this episode titled Beauty in the Broken Places. Experiencing a tragedy such as the loss of a child undoubtedly leaves deep scars. Many of us who experience this horror accept the reality that our lives will never be the same.

I mean, how can they be? Our lives have been literally shattered, like a broken piece of pottery—a heap of broken clay, splintered and scattered on the floor. Once whole and unbroken, in our deepest grief, our lives have lost purpose. After losing my daughter, it seemed like I would never return to the person I was prior to her death.

My “vessel” was so severely shattered that mending not only seemed impossible, but it did not feel right to mend it. I do not want to not feel this grief. The emotions are connected to my daughter. And quite frankly, it’s all I have left of her. The notion of returning to normal after the loss of my daughter was—and continues to be—unthinkable. There have been times when I’ve just wanted to close my bedroom curtains and disappear.

Like the broken pottery, we may feel tempted to give up, to throw ourselves away. How can we mend these broken pieces? It seems impossible. After my daughter passed away in 2020, I began searching desperately for resources to help me understand my emotions, and quite frankly, looking for someone to tell me that what I was feeling was actually “normal.”

In 2020, in the wake of COVID-19 shutdowns and social distancing, I was left to deal with the loss of my daughter within my immediate family bubble. During that time, I read books—mostly about heaven and near-death experiences—just to get a glimpse into what my daughter was seeing and experiencing. I was desperate to know that she was okay. When I wasn’t reading, podcasts became a daily routine, specifically podcasts focused on grieving parents and how families have coped with addiction and loss. I listened to the stories of families who had experienced the loss of a child, whether through illness, accident, suicide, addiction, etc. Each episode broke me as I felt so deeply the pain these families were enduring. I was able to relate directly to the experiences of some of the bereaved mothers, fathers, and siblings as they bravely shared their stories. I realized that the families I met through podcasts had been on their grief journey for vastly different amounts of time. I also observed a common thread: the pain does not ever go away—not after 5, 10, 20 years—never. The searing pain dulls a bit, but the devastating loss of our children remains. I was inspired by their stories. These families had used their grief—their pain, their reality—to help others and to pay tribute to their children and their memory.

These resources created a sense of community for me and helped me to see how powerful my story could be in the life of someone else. That I could, one day, use this pain for good. Take the brokenness and display it. Not hide it away—be vulnerable and brave. It helped me to know I was not alone, and I wanted desperately to come alongside someone else and do for them what had been done for me: to be raw, show my scars, my sadness, and the joy woven within it.

A few years ago, as I was binging grief podcasts, I learned of the centuries-old Japanese art of Kintsugi. The word “Kintsugi” translates as “golden joinery.” It’s a method of repairing broken ceramics or glass. Traditionally, a gold, silver, or platinum lacquer is used to piece shards together again, creating a more beautiful object through the acts of breaking and repair.

Kintsugi celebrates the brokenness, honoring the story of the object—its ruin and its repair. The brokenness is simply a part of the story. The philosophy behind it is to value the brokenness and repair as part of the object’s history, rather than seeing it as something to disguise. In contrast to our tendency to strive for perfection and discard or hide brokenness, Kintsugi acknowledges the brokenness and then pieces it back together into something magnificently beautiful. The mending takes a considerable amount of time, and there are steps that need to be completed and repeated along the way. There are six phases to Kintsugi art. First, there’s the cleaning. The broken piece is examined, any broken bits are collected, and the exposed surfaces are thoroughly cleaned. Any remaining residue is scraped off, and crumbling pieces are gathered.

Then, the reassembling. The pieces are loosely put back together, and any gaps are filled with putty or a mixture of lacquer and terracotta powder. Joining takes place next. This is when the pieces are carefully joined together. Then the restored piece is painted with lacquer, and the process is repeated.

The piece is then sanded to achieve a smooth surface, and finally, a protective sealant is added to protect the artwork and highlight the broken pieces. Simple repairs take about two to three months to complete, whereas more complex repairs may take up to a year. The labor time is limited; however, the curing time between each step of the repair process results in the length of the overall process.

With this technique, uniquely different works of art, each with its own story and beauty, are created. The beauty is enhanced by the unique cracks formed when the object breaks—as if they were wounds that leave a scar, telling a story. It occurred to me, after learning of this art form, that God is a master Kintsugi artist.

He knows our brokenness. He does not reject us or discard us. Where we see a heap of broken pieces, He sees potential and the possibility of creating something beautiful and new. God does not throw away the clay. He takes our brokenness and restores us to a vessel that can be used. As bereaved parents, we are like broken pottery, cracked in
places—maybe shattered and lying on a cold concrete floor.

Our pieces no longer fit together in their intended way. Fractured and confused, we feel valueless, worn, helplessly broken, and ashamed. We may have lost some of our shards; others are ground into dust. Even in this place, where all seems lost, God does not want us to hide our brokenness. No, He actually pulls us closer, teaching us that instead of hiding our scars, we can use them.

God knows that our scars, losses, and grief can be repaired and restored into something else completely. The process by which we restore our vessel is much like the process of the Kintsugi art form itself. First, you must decide that you want to use your brokenness. This will not be a short journey; it will take time, patience, and determination. As grieving parents, we are missing a substantial portion of our vessel. The pieces are not going to fit together perfectly and will require a dependence on God to fill those broken places with His perfect peace. God takes our broken pieces and puts them back together in a way that displays His glory.

Because it is in the cracks and in the scars that we see evidence of God’s healing and God’s power to restore. I leave you with Jeremiah 18:4: “And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter; so he made it again into another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make.” I am still mending my vessel. Step by step, I move forward, watching God continue to fill in the cracks with beauty beyond imagining. It is a daily recommitment I make to God, my family, and myself to seek, find, and share purpose for the pain. My prayer for you is that this podcast will highlight all of my broken pieces, that each of them will be on full display, and that my brokenness will provide you with hope as we share in this unwanted journey together.

[Closing]

Thank you for joining the Broken Vessels Podcast. The loss of a child is a profound sorrow, and I’m honored to share this space with you as we navigate this unwanted journey together. Your grief is a testament to your love, and in that love, you are never alone. If today’s episode brought you a moment of comfort or connection, please consider sharing
it with someone who might need it.

And be sure to tune in for the next episode. Until then, may you find moments of strength and gentle comfort. God bless.

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