Chandra’s studio was behind the house, off the garage.
It was not a large space but precious and close—full of potential and possibility. Ceiling to floor, rough shelves held pebbles, shards of china, ceramic, and sea glass. Buckets and bowls of color, beguiling bits of color, in every hue and form.
The table in the center, covered in dabs of creations from another day, held jars of brushes and tools. There was always a vase of flowers and green—whatever was blooming at the time, daisies or daffodils or just a few spears of fern—sunshine and friendship in a vase.
Each night, we arrived at the redwood gate weary from the day, burdened by the duties of work and motherhood, or simply bruised by life. Chandra would throw open the door, her curls catching the porch light like a halo. Stepping inside, we crossed the threshold into healing.
We stood at the shelves, sifting through bowls and boxes of magic and sea glass, selecting pattern and texture that we began to lay across concrete stepping stones placed upon the table. Each piece began as something else—a plate, a dish, a tile. Now broken shards, they were nothing until we began to shift and turn them on the table.
One by one, shapes emerged from the broken, disassembled bits, and in the process, healing began.
It had been a year of loss for me. Mom’s death marked the end of an arduous journey. Three years later, the wounds were still fresh. Two dear friends moved in cross-country job relocations, both to Tennessee, and I was certain that Franklin was a horrid place, to have taken them both. When my Dad left for France, I took the pieces that broke off with that news and placed them next to the others: the sharp edges of my mother’s death, the broken china of that shattered life, carefully positioned next to the bitterness of other unrealized expectations.
Over the course of weeks and months, hope emerged amidst the cuts and crags and broken edges.
The others who sat with me on stools around the studio bore their own wounds. We reassembled the broken bits of our lives at that work-worn table. With friendship and prayer, we took the pieces and put them back together, into patterns of blue, coral, and green. What was useless became lovely—flowers and birds pieced of pottery and sea glass. A glossy bead here, a worn pebble there. Mosaics of our lives, set into mastic and concrete.
The finished result was always a thing of beauty. What was broken now whole, no less beautiful for the jagged lines and edges around each and every unique fragment. No longer just a pile of broken shards, each stepping stone was a testament to time and prayer, friendship and healing. We left with our prizes more peaceful than we came, nourished by the lamplight and conversation. Something happened there at that table, as we pieced back our lives. The grout smeared into the grooves served to seal our wounds. We arrived broken, but we left whole.
Our lives, our brokenness, our flaws and failures are precisely what God designed to reflect a perfect love.
Life, disassembled and reassembled into a thing of beauty, reflecting his love, a manifestation of grace. Like the mosaics in the studio: what was broken, now whole, no less beautiful for the jagged lines and edges around each and every unique fragment.
Those lines in between the cracks, those are how the Light shines through.
For more about living a grace-filled, abundant and shiny life, follow on Facebook.
Leave a Comment
Nikole Hahn says
Beautiful analogy. All that brokenness brings us closer to Him.
Adelle Gabrielson says
So glad you liked it! Thanks for taking the time to comment.
Over here… | Adelle Gabrielson says
[…] you’ll find me over at (in)Courage, writing about brokenness reassembled in a post called “Shattered Whole.” Please stop […]
Gwen says
Ah. Very beautifully written. It is a good ministry. I would go.
Adelle Gabrielson says
Thank you so much! Thanks for taking the time to comment. Building those mosaics was never meant to be a ministry, I think, but God made it into one!
Emily M says
Beautiful writing!
Adelle Gabrielson says
Thank you Emily! Hugs.
julie says
As an artist and having a special love for mosaic work, this spoke to me in way you cannot imagine. I will forever look at the pieces I assemble in a different way. Thanks.
Adelle Gabrielson says
Do you ever create mosaics with other people? I’ve often thought about how lovely this would be to do as a group at a retreat or similar. Thanks for stopping by!
Jacque Watkins @ Mercy Found Me says
Beautiful post Adelle…beauty and healing from brokenness!
Morag says
I am drawn to mosaics for this idea, of broken pieces, small things, being woven together into something big and beautiful.
Pat says
I love the word picture you used of “sunshine and friendship in a vase” and your description of leaving Chandra’s house”nourished by lamplight and conversation”. Healing often comes in the company of friends. Your story and its theme remind me of the many friends God has put in my life, and their absolutely perfect fit into the mosaic piece that is me. My life was certainly “disassembled” with every relocation we made in my husbnad’s career, but what beauty He had planned in the new creation! Thanks for this new perspective on His grace and love.
Cynthia says
This was visually stunning to me. Thank you so much for sharing it.
Beth Williams says
I find myself in a “disarray” now. Went into this career choice with high hopes and have found myself at a job where I am not liked by the boss. Frankly I don’t like the job either anymore. I don’t feel I fit in anymore, but don’t know where to turn yet. I realize that all my twists and turns in life are what make the mosaic of my life and the struggles make me stronger and more dependent on Him!
Praying God will turn this around and give me “beauty for ashes”. I want to come out of this struggle a much stronger, better, closer Christian than before.
Loved the post and your beautiful verbiage! 🙂
Laura says
I truly loved this post. It really hit home to me and made me realize how important healing is. Thank you for sharing it.
Lessons Learned in 3D — I’m Late. I’m Late… | 3dLessons4Life's Blog says
[…] our flaws and failures are precisely what God designed to reflect a perfect love.” — This beautiful guest post by Adele for (in) courage touched me […]
Kate says
The word ‘beautiful’ doesn’t do justice to the way your words ebb and flow as you paint this scene for us … Praise God for His healing work in your life. Thank you for using the gift He has given you to paint such picturesque imagery with your writing. Blessings to you.