Accepting Brokenness
If I think in squares and rectangles, this image is perfectly deceptive. It filters out the brokenness and only colors in the bright electric of lemons, shades of shamrock, parakeet and chartreuse. It hides shattered planters, ripped up boards and dead grass. The weeds go unseen. Same with the row of potted vegetable carcasses. Piles of sand, shells, and toys litter the yard.
My garden is broken and my garden is me.
Becoming Broken
The first time I encountered myself as a broken garden was when I was nineteen. I was "finding myself in Europe” and I herniated a disc in my back. I was part of a performing tour, singing and dancing in different cities. But the pain was excruciating and I couldn't participate. I was dependent on help and was begging God for mercy.
My fragility scared me. How could I go from being fine and healthy, while living out a super cool purpose, to being incapacitated? It felt unfair.
It was on that same trip I struggled with depression for the first time. I was known for being the happy-go-lucky, free-spirit. Let's just say depression didn’t go with that vibe.
The depression shook me more than my back pain. It felt like it was attacking my very identity, who I was. I just wanted it all to go away and I couldn't make the weight leave.
Hope For the Broken
It wasn’t until I found myself on my knees, crying on the floor of a church in the ancient city of Rome, that I experienced a breakthrough. Although I had prayed for the depression to go away many other times, there was something that was different about this. I was determined. I wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t stop pushing to overcome this depression, until it released its grip on me.
At the core of this move was recognizing I was broken. I had never really accepted this before. I found myself frail, human, fallible, needy. And even though I didn’t like that in the slightest, I found hope in that space.
Why? When I finally recognized that I was hopeless without help, I was able to seek it and find a breakthrough.
It is only when we become fully aware of our need that we can be filled. It is here that we can become blown-away by unconditional love, for we see that it isn’t our performance that provides us with value and worth. It is Grace wrapping his arms around us in our brokenness.
Years later, I’ve lived through and experienced much worse. Even now, I am in a season of brokeness, with recurring medical trauma and a new chronic illness. My nights are characterized by pain, sleepless tossing and turning, and flashbacks from complex PTSD. Now, I daily use what I discovered in Europe at nineteen to overcome; admitting my need, accepting my weaknesses and enduring with hope.
Unashamed
Today when I see myself as a broken garden, I am not ashamed. Even though it is struggling now, there is still so much life under the surface.
The fountain was repaired this weekend, gurgling a joyful serenade. Birds sing from the trees in the dawn and the neighborhood feline crawls along the fence. My patio table and chairs only need to be cleaned. The near-dead plants can be restored with a touch of fertilizer and a daily watering. True, some weeds need to be pulled, but the work will be well worth it. A pair of gloves, a broom and a trash bag will revolutionize the place!
And not all is dead. For example, the succulent with twin garden elephants is lovely. The slightly withered lemon tree is even producing fruit!
There are seasons of drought, seasons where our gardens might be barely hanging on. But with a little love, they will thrive. Soon we will be able to find a peaceful retreat or host summer cookouts. There is promise here.
Don't despair looking at the state of your garden. Start by gently accepting it as it is. Only then should you breathe in deeply, pick up your shovel, and dream.
