The Beauty of Brokenness

A perfect afternoon for a stroll, not too warm, an occasional cooling breeze. She grabbed her keys and, shutting the door behind her, considered both directions before deciding to walk down to the little park. Only a mile, maybe less, but enough to clear her head and stretch her body. Such mixed weather at the start of summer. Some days felt blistering, while others seemed more like fall. Today was more of a fall feel: warm sun but cool breeze, some flowers blooming while others seemed to be weighing whether or not they should yet. The pavement had mostly dried from last night’s rain. It had poured. She’d heard it pounding her windows, and the thunder, wow! She skirted a puddle and headed down a street of smaller homes with gardens that would be an artist’s palette in a few weeks. As she walked, she noticed a flower peeking through the greenery. She stopped to see it more closely. As she stood there, she saw herself looking at the flower. She contemplated herself contemplating the flower.

Beauty Flower by side of the roadA number of years earlier she would have crushed the flower; it was so pretty and her life wasn’t, she wasn’t. At another time she would have picked the flower in an attempt to keep its loveliness. And when it withered from lack of sustenance, she would have discarded it, blaming the flower for not sustaining her. Today, though, she simply enjoyed its bright color and scent and resolved to let more light into her life, to let that light brighten her dark corners, and when she saw cobwebs the light pointed out, to examine them and discard the ones no longer useful, but keep the ones she could still learn from.

Anger sustains but at an enormous cost. Meekness sustains too, but the cost is different; the way is different. Nothing’s perfect. People need balance. We walk, we limp, we heal, we walk some more until we begin to limp again. We let more light in and repeat the cycle. It’s really very simple.