Notes from Jan

Holy Scars.

September 10, 2015

It broke.
My favorite coffee mug.
Heather and Lily gave it to me a few months after Jud died.
It served as a nudge to choose better because it says, “Choose Joy.”
They said, “It’s what we see you do,” though I don’t seem to grasp that some days.

The whole mug didn’t shatter when I knocked it off the counter into the ceramic sink. Just the handle broke.
Jud glued.  Sometimes he was the glue that put me back together when I broke over something or other.
He did that for more than me.  It was one of his gifts, a Godly trait, to be a trustworthy steward, to salvage, to mend friend, family, even foe.
But with stuff–the things I’d want to toss because they weren’t perfect–he’d grab some form of Elmer’s and glue away.
And, afterwards, even with my hawk-eye, I sometimes couldn’t find the crack, the flaw, the mended bit.

So how do I choose joy with something no longer perfect: this handleless mug or whatever needs a shot of joy to carry on?
Joy in remembering the givers.
Check
Joy in the opportunity to choose better this day.
Check
As for the mug, Joy for the gift of sight and glasses to be able to read the two words printed on the front.
Check
Joy in having a home with a shelf on which to place the messed-up mug.
Check
And so much JOY in remembering Jud, the gluer.

Maybe I’ll put a plant in it.  Something with leaves and vines to overflow the sides and cover the scars.
Maybe not.

Holy scars.
I see myself in that mug.
Only need to look in the mirror, to look around, to notice God loves broken folks.

“He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147: 3

God the Gluer until…
Until one day when we are all whole, healed, restored to original beauty and purpose.
Meanwhile, no need to hide behind fig leaves or any other clever way we come up with for covering the scars of our lives.

“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” Psalm 51:17

Somewhere between yesterday when I broke the mug and today, the mug’s become symbolic of Jud for me, broken but beautiful.  A quiet reminder that while Jud’s missing as the on-site gluer, he’s still glue.  Jud’s  still mending the broken hearts of his family and friends through his prayers, his life well-lived and his death well-fought.
So many choice moments in this small dash called life.

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