There is Beauty in Brokenness

I do not consider myself broken, yet there are still pieces of me that are missing.  Three years ago, my heart shattered into too many pieces to count.  I couldn’t see my way through the darkness and it hurt to even breathe.  I couldn’t see a day when those sharp shards would bring anything more than piercing pain.  I suppose that in my brokenness there was some kind of pull to the macabre for many people looking in.  While I couldn’t imagine a day when I would or could trust myself and when I could have a life totally separate from my Phil, I recognized something today.

 The broken pieces are slowly knitting together.  The pieces will never fit the same again.  There will be gaping holes in some places, but the whole will stand stronger and more sure because in the brokenness strength is forged.  The default setting of total loss of hope and dreams of a future is that there is a choice.  The choice is to give up or to find a way through the flames.  I chose to fall into my faith and I truly believe that made all of the difference.

Today, I came back to my lodging room after running.  I am staying there this weekend due to how many showings my house is scheduled for.  As I approached my car, an elderly stooped man was looking at my plates.  As I stretched, I heard he and his wife talking about the plates and wondering who belonged to the plates.  I decided to introduce myself.  As we talked, the man asked if I earned the plates from my father’s service.  I told him Phil’s story.  He began to choke up.  You see, he served in the Korean War and he had seen so much death and he had lost so many of his “brothers.”  It was hard for him to hear that so many brothers were being lost today. 

I choose to tell Phil’s story because his life was remarkable, yet he didn’t recognize it. Telling his story is never about me, nor do I want it to be about my own selfishness.  I simply want to honor the man who stood for so much.  There is strength and healing in sharing Phil with the world.  He is remembered and my military family stands strong with me.  Instead of being broken, I am bent, gnarled, and shattered in places, but I stand stronger.  My roots reach deep to withstand the storms. There is a simple beauty in the choice to reach through the raging battering billows. 

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