Broken

We exited the birthday party amidst a flurry of hugs and smiles and prolonged goodbyes, her arms overflowing and her happiness palpable.  She was chattering away, filling me in on all the details of the sleepover, when a splintering sound halted our conversation.  Turning around, I saw her crumpled on the ground, attempting to salvage the pottery piece she had just created with her friends.  Tears sprang into her eyes.  I knelt down beside her, put my arms around her.  "Oh honey..."  Words failed me.  We gathered up the shards as best we could.  Once in the car, she turned her body away from me, attempting to conceal her lingering tears.  I fumbled my way through a stilted conversation about mistakes happening, and that I think I had glue that could hold it together.  I tried to comfort her.  She tried to be comforted.

When we got home I asked her to take her belongings upstairs while I did the dishes,  promising to sit down with her and my strong glue in a few minutes.  Together we would work on piecing it back together.  "What if it never looks the same again?" she asked.  "It won't, honey.  It will never look the same. There will be cracks and lines and glue showing.  But it will still be your mug."  She turned slowly away and trudged up the stairs. I was sad for her.  She spent time with her friends to create this precious masterpiece, carefully choosing the colors, carefully painting the details.  And now it was shattered into pieces. I busied myself with the dishes as I allowed my thoughts to drift to the unfairness and the whys.

Minutes later, I heard sobbing coming from her room.  Drying my hands, I stood outside her door and asked to come in.  She was curled up in a ball, hair shielding her face.  I sat down next to her, put my hand on her back.  "Can you tell me what you're feeling?"

"Nothing."

Hmmm....this wasn't going to be easy.  She's my tough one, my big feeler but bigger stuffer.  She's the one who cries the hardest at movies, but hates to show it.  I searched my mind for the elusive key that would unlock her words.

"Sweetie, I know you're feeling big feelings right now, and that is okay! It's so good to feel.  When you feel sad, or angry, or frustrated, it's good.  And it makes you a better person to feel those things, because then you know how other people feel.  It gives you compassion, because then when other people feel big feelings, you can help them, because you know what they're feeling."

Silence.

"I know you're feeling sad.  I'm feeling sad too, because you're sad," my voice trailed.

"No, I'm stupid!  I'm so stupid!  I should have let you carry it!  You asked me if you could carry it, and I said no, and I dropped it!  I am so stupid!"

And there it was - the root of the big feelings: Shame.

Deep down, underneath the surface layers of frustration and sadness, was a core belief: I am shameful.  Shame was the source of the hiding, the pretending.  My heart sank.

"No honey.  You made a mistake.  You are not stupid.  You made a mistake."

I held my daughter as she continued to cry softly, allowing me to comfort her.  I honestly cannot remember what I said, but I think the more important thing was to allow her a safe place to grieve, to affirm that emotions are okay, and to sit with her while she worked out her grief.

The mug probably can be fixed, even if it doesn't look exactly the same.  And that is usually how we approach brokenness, isn't it?  We see broken; we need to fix it.  But people aren't easily fixed.  And sometimes, they don't need to be fixed.

What if, instead of trying to fix the brokenness all around us, we instead try to step into it and be present?  What if we wade into the sadness and the shame and the anger and the big feelings, and say, "I'm here." We may not have a polished speech prepared.  It's okay.  We may not have an immediate answer or solution.  It's okay.  We may not know what the heck to do.  It's okay.  We may be scared, frustrated, or sad ourselves.  It's okay.

Maybe we could leave the fixing to the only One who is qualified to do it.  That's why He came.  Our Rescuer, Our Redeemer, Our Healer, Our Fixer.

What we can do: We can ask questions.  We can listen.  We can give a hug.  We can say, "I understand."  We can say, "What do you need?"  We can pray.

And sometimes, I'd venture to say most times, that is enough.