I’ve been reworking this tiny piece of writing since 1998. I’ve decided just to throw it out there. It continues to be relevant.
I sit here and think about things that break. Heaters and cars and relationships and hearts. All that breakage puts little cracks in my faith in the way the world operates. Appointments, bones, flower stems on rainy days. Most things can be repaired, or will regrow or assume rebirth. But my belief that all things will keep functioning keeps getting dented around the edges.
How does breakage help me? Do I develop strength, knowing that even though many things will fracture, that life will still move forward? Do I simply grow older and wiser? Or does my faith continue to shrink, little by little, inch-by-inch, until I understand that everything will eventually fall apart, including me, and that’s simply the way of it?
There are many things in my home now that are broken and not yet repaired. I have, instead, spent the time repairing myself, my relationships, my parenting. For me, time spent on the soul has always been more important than the bathroom faucet. Until I finally do get it repaired, and I realize it was so easy to do, and it has improved my life so much. Silly me, physical repairs are so much easier than emotional ones.