It’s Ok To Break

I recently came across something that declared “It’s ok to break,” and it struck me so powerfully that I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. I no longer remember where I saw it or what else it might have said, but that phrase has stuck.

As much as I think about brokenness and relating that brokenness to kintsugi artistry, I’ve never actually given myself such powerful, direct permission to break.

Why would I even want that? Isn’t breaking a bad thing? Something to avoid at all costs?

Not necessarily. I’d argue that in some cases, letting ourselves break is the healthiest thing we can do.

Of course, before I go further with this, let me clarify what I mean by broken. I’ve read about the three types of brokenness: inherent brokenness, imposed brokenness, and invited brokenness.

When I write about brokenness as people, I’m never writing  inherent brokenness. You are not broken! And even in those times when you feel broken, broken is not who you are. Ever!

Despite that, there are times when life breaks our hearts, when parts of our lives break apart, or when we feel broken by the losses, traumas, and calamities life brings our way. Most of us have been trained by our culture to avoid displaying any form of breaking down or breaking apart in any way, though.

So we keep a stiff upper lip, try to hide the fractures forming in our facade, and try to keep plowing through life and our usual routines as if there’s nothing wrong. When we do this and try to suppress the brokenness we are feeling, we extend our suffering and make it harder to heal.

We have to acknowledge that something broken before we can do anything to heal from it!

That’s where this permission to break feels so powerful. We don’t have to try to hold it all together when our lives are falling apart.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is let it fall apart so we can start afresh with only the pieces that are worth saving.

It may be that there are things we need to let go in order to make room for better things.

We may need to let our facade crack and crumble so that our real selves can walk free of the masks and pretenses.

It’s ok to break when we need to.

Feeling broken is not fun, but it’s also not an evil to be avoided or anything to be ashamed of. Allowing ourselves to break so that we can heal and grow allows us to develop gifts of kintsugi gold through that healing rather than staying stuck in our suffering.

If you are in a place of trying to hide the cracks you are feeling in your life or heart, if you are in pain and are trying to pretend that everything is ok, let me offer you the same permission. It’s ok to break.

It’s ok to not be ok for a while as you do what you need to in order to heal. It’s ok to let the pieces drop until you are ready to put them back together in a new form. It’s ok to give yourself time to heal.

It’s ok to break.

Live So They'll Clap!

 The following story is from a chapter in my book I’m writing. I was profoundly changed witnessing this experience as my father was in the room next this gentleman. Over the weeks that our father’s were awaiting their tickets home, I got to visit with Tom’s children and the impact that simple acts of kindness can have while watching those we love struggle to leave this earth. 

We shared so much in common. Our father’s both being gentle giants in this world, living the life of a servant and caretaker.  This beautiful doctor I refer to gently and lovingly helped us walk our father’s into the loving arms of the Savior and for that I will forever be grateful. 

This book chapter is written from the view point of the hospice doctor. I hope it will touch your heart and soul as it did mine to experience this and write about it. 

My name is Sariel. Commissioned by the Lord himself I was instructed to go assist another saint in transitioning to this side. Contrary to what is often believed, the soul is quite capable of finding its way home. Returning to The Creator is the most natural reflex saints have. Angels like me are sent as companions for the journey and often utilized to help them say "goodbye." As that is the difficult part in death. I was chosen for this transition because I am the angel that specializes in big numbers. This gentleman would be leaving a crowd of people who didn't want to see him go and would be greeted by a crowd who were anxious to see him again. With many friends and extended family, Tom also had a devoted wife, ten children, nine in-laws and twenty-six grandchildren who spanned two decades.     

 

"Tom, my name is Sariel. I'm here to walk home with you."

"Then call me Doc" he said, as if he thought we should be on closer terms.  

"Did you know that I have ten kids?" he asked.  

"I did." I responded. "As a matter of fact I escorted three of them to you myself." 

"I hope I remembered to thank you?" he questioned.  

I assured him that he had. He was not a man of many words but was certainly known both here and in the celestial realm for having a grateful heart.  

 

It was a Wednesday when I greeted him. I wanted to tell him that beginning tomorrow he would no longer be able to respond to them. He would, however, stay to listen for a few more days before we would leave.   

"It's okay," he told me. "They know what I will no longer be able to tell them."  

 

His wife, who we refer to in Heaven as 'the faithful one', had been sent an angel of her own years ago. That's what The Lord does for his faithful ones. His children were all there, hours after I arrived, when Tom took a turn for the worse. They gathered in the same room that they had run to in the middle of the night when they were scared little ones. They assumed their unspoken roles and fell into their unrehearsed rhythm. They each stood at the post of 'whatever it takes' while systematically falling into the reality of their sadness and grief. They came and left the room in a tag team of strength and weakness that was beautifully painful and painfully beautiful. For three days they kneeled around his bed, wanting desperately to hear his voice and realized slowly and with great sadness that it was gone.  That unassuming, quiet voice of direction, love, and strength was gone.  So they began to speak to him.

 

"Daddy, do you remember when you took us fishing?" Kelly trailed off in tears.  

"Or what about the tennis lessons Dad?" Pat continued.  

"I remember you frying chicken on Sundays after church." Mike added.

"Boy Scout meetings" Johnny chimed in.  

"Ball games. You were always there. Coaching and cheering." Jimmy said.  

"Working cattle was never much work with you." Ryan recalled.

 

"Teaching us to water ski at the cabin", "Camp outs", "OSU football games," and "Teaching us to drive" were also mentioned as they reminisced about time they had spent with the man who had given them so much of himself. The stories flowed as if they had all happened yesterday, and the feelings of family, love, and togetherness were palpable in the air. It went on for three days.  They continued with memories, stories, laughter, tears and gratitudes. The faithful one laid there with her head on his shoulder, listening, praying and hoping. She hadn't moved in hours and had no intention of doing so. She would spend his final days exactly where she had spent the majority of her years: At his side. There were times of silence broken with more stories, comments, prayers, and scripture being read. Four or five of them laid on the bed with their parents while several were on the floor and in the recliner. Everybody in one room. They were there for each other as much as they were there for him. It was a room filled with absolute love, adoration, and immense sorrow. I hovered above as The Lord instructed to provide them His peace and His comfort. 

 

"So much attention." I said to him. He smiled and shrugged, as if to tell me that this was the only attention that had ever really mattered to him. 

 

They continued to operate in a symphony of strengths and weakness' meeting the needs of each other as well as Tom and the faithful one. There had been no assignments, no direction, no voting, and no manual. They each operated from a knowing of themselves and a deep knowing and belief in each other. Surrounding him and wondering how much longer they would be given. Not wanting to miss a single opportunity to love or appreciate him, they continued to talk. 

 

"Thanks for everything you taught us Dad about living life well." the oldest began.  

"Thanks for staying to walk me down the isle this year Daddy." The youngest daughter choked as she recounted the thirty eight years he waited and the steps they took together only a few months before.  

"Thanks for the things you did for us, with us, and in spite of us." the other daughter whispered tearfully, knowing that most men do not choose such greatness. 

"For your patience," the faithful one chimed in.

"For your kindness and generosity to everybody you ever came across." Tim profoundly uttered. 

For giving us the love of Dave," Tom sobbingly said, "because it changed me." 

 

They all sensed that the time was drawing closer. The two sons-in-law, John and Jerrad, were both there standing behind Tom's daughters, supportive and sorrowful. John who had been called Tom's 'best buddy' for years, had been part of this family longer than the four youngest children. He tearfully left the room after saying "I love you, Doc." Jimmy followed him. They hugged for a long time outside the room and returned together. Jerrad, although new to the family, had a sense of both loss and love as he stood quietly in the corner and wept. Two of Tom's daughters-in-law were there as well. It was difficult for any of them to stay away as they all had admiration for him. Liz and Kara, however, were able to get away to be a part of the homecoming. They stood in the doorway, quieter than Tom's children but right there with this man who had always assured them they were as much a part of the family as anybody.

 

"He has gifted us with this time" someone announced.

"He's teaching us how to die with dignity just like he taught us to live." Pat commented.  

"Not much longer, Doc." I told him. And at that his breathing became more labored. He never wanted to leave when his family was together.  

"It's okay Daddy." Kelly sobbed.  

"Please Daddy, let go." Karen cried. 

The labored breathing lasted for hours. They each tried to assure him that they would be okay, though none of them felt like they actually would. The only thing more painful to them than being without him was watching the pain he was now experiencing. For so many years Tom had been the one to hold them up and to help them through their pain, always putting them before himself. But on this day it was their turn. And so they lamented. 

 

"Please Dad. Please." Ryan pleaded.

"Let go, Daddy." Tim wept. 

Jimmy, who was resting his forehead on Tom's whispered, "We will take care of Mom, Daddy, I promise. It's okay." 

Johnny began to pray, "Thank you, Father, for the years You gave us with him and all that he is to us. Help us to remember what he taught us. Lord, give us the strength to let him go and the grace to be able to move on without him. Make the pain stop and help him come to you in peace." 

As an answer to that prayer, it was then that I reached through the realms of time and eternity and I touched their hearts. Jimmy stood and pointed at the youngest daughter, who had been at the foot of the bed crying, and motioned for her to trade places with him.  

When she reached the head of the bed Missy's painful sobbing had stopped and with a graceful peace she began to sing.

"Jesus loves me this I know…."

Tom's breath gradually slowed.

"Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelu…" she continued in a soft melody. 

The pain ceased and the peace that he had always known on this earth rested upon him just before he entered eternity. With the name of Jesus their Savior, in the form of a song sung in tremble, I took his hand and escorted him to this side. 

 

After he had left them we watched together as they each lined up, kissed his head and told him that they loved him. Tom saw the sadness in their eyes but no longer recognized that emotion in any way he could define. He looked at me puzzled as I explained to him that he now lives in a place where the glory of God is so immense that sadness cannot be fathomed. With that, we turned and approached the other crowd that had been waiting for Tom. As he walked without limit and without pain the clapping began. Behind us, his family had lined the sidewalk as his body was wheeled out of the home. On either side of that concrete walk they stood in sadness and respect. They clapped for this man who had lived his life so well. And ahead, his loved ones lined a sidewalk made of gold to greet him in joy and respect for a life well served. He walked. They clapped. In unison the clapping from both sides of time resonated for this man who spent his life in simple service and profound love. 

 

It is a rare honor to take this walk and to witness the peace and faith felt on both sides as a soul such as Tom's passes over. The family lining the concrete and the family lining the gold knew that the legacy Tom left behind was as tender and beautiful as it was solid and sustainable. And so they clapped.

Step Into The Arena With Love

 There is a love that reaches into the mire of my life and the messiness of my heart, and it rescues me.  It is a love that comes from a savior who is the basis of a redemptive story that has left me forever changed.  A savior that did not allow my pain, my sin, my mistakes, or my pride to keep me from His love.  He stepped into those things with me, and took them on himself so that I could experience His presence.  His is a love that was willing to get messy to rescue me.  Not just once, but daily.  A love that doesn't require me to change in order to receive it, but invites me to change because I am blessed enough to already have it. 

I have also been given that kind of love by a few people who have been willing to step into the arena of my ugliness, my sin, my struggles, and my brokenness and love me in spite of those things that make me rather unlovable.  If we are Christ followers, those are the marching orders we have been given.  Love.  No qualifiers. No measuring sticks of who deserves it and who doesn't.  No inquiry about whether or not I feel like it or agree.  Love.   No limit.  No end.  No excuses.  Love, like Jesus did.  That's our directive.  

I have been disappointed through the years to see what happens to this love when fellow followers of Jesus disappoint us.  When people who we believe know better, should do better, we are quick to limit our love, our grace, and our acceptance.  When those preaching from the pulpit aren't living it on the pavement, we frequently do the opposite of what we have been asked to do.  Yet, what we've been asked to do is the very thing that will set us apart.  "They will know us, by our love." John 13:35  Too often, what I have seen us do is leave our own wounded on the side of the road in the name of self-righteous religion.  We do not extend love well to our fellow pew sitter when we believe they have disrespected the pew they sit in.  Judgment jumps in where justice and mercy are supposed to reside.  Gossip quickly replaces grace as if grace was never an acquaintance of ours to begin with.  We wrap ourselves in the guessing of someone else's pain, sin, crime, and difficulty by asking other stunned believers "What in the world happened?"  Pettiness leaves no room for actual prayer and we get side tracked by the mess in the arena instead of rescuing the warrior who needs to be reminded that they are loved, in spite of the mess that surrounds them.      

"What in the world happened?",  is a great question, a natural question, and even a healing question when it is asked from the right heart to the right person.  If you loved them, spoke to them, did life with them before you received the news about their falling, their failing, their mistake, their crime, their loss, etc… then you have an opportunity to be Jesus directly to them.  When you have the rapport to step into the arena of someone else's tragedy and approach them with an open heart and say "What in the world happened?", while you embrace them with love, you are an agent of Jesus'.  That's what He did for you.  You just facilitated a process necessary for that person to return to the redemptive arms of a grace filled savior.  You just provided them an opportunity to shed light on their own shame so they don't have to drown in it's darkness.  You just did what we have been called to do!  If you did not have this kind of rapport in the person's life before the tragedy, then now is not the time to obtain it and "what in the world happened?" is not your question to ask them.  Keep in mind that asking others "what in the world happened?" will only be helpful if you do so with a prayerful heart and a grace-filled intention to help.    

Have you reached out to the one who was in your Bible study who just got a DUI conviction?  You know that person in your church community who was in treatment for depression and tried to take their own life, have you asked them what it's like to have those kind of thoughts?  Have you sent any type of support to your friend whose mug shot was on the evening news?  Have you prayed for or spoken to the pastor who had an affair?  Or for the woman in the church he had it with?  Have you lovingly encouraged the youth worker who is neglecting his own family?  Have you had a heart to heart with the put together mom who works childcare at church and allegedly embezzled money from her employer?  Have you considered ways you can be supportive to any and all of the children who might be caught in the crossfire of these situations?  Have you put your arms around your friend who just can't tell their spouse that they cheated?  Or are you, like many of us, lost in the audacity of the information, the details, and the scandal and unable to remember that you too have needed redemption from audacities as well?

Never once when I return to the loving arms of my Jesus after poorly representing Him have I felt that He is condoning my selfish, sin filled choices by loving me.  I am clear that He is possibly repulsed and certainly saddened when I miss the mark.  Not once when I have had a Christ follower crawl into the mire with me did I believe they were okay with what I had done/said/been.  When we extend that same love and grace to our fellow believers, they know we are not condoning what they have done.  Chances are good they know exactly how most of us feel; we've gotten good at that message.  What they might not know is that we are willing to take our marching orders from a Holy God seriously and step into the arena and love them as we have been loved.