Loving the cracks

When we are young, it’s the illusion of perfection that we fall in love with. But, as we age, it’s the humanness that we fall in love with- the poignant story of overcoming, the depthful vulnerability of aging, the struggles that grew us in karmic stature, the way a soul shaped itself to accommodate its circumstances. With less energy to hold up our armor, we are revealed and, in the revealing, we call out to each other’s hearts. Where before wounds turned us off, they are now revealed as proof that God exists. Where we once saw imperfect scars, we now see evidence of a life fully lived.

~ Jeff Brown



This quote popped up on my Facebook news feed tonight. It made me think. I used to think that in order to be a good human, a good person, I had to be perfect. It wasn't an illusion for me. It was reality. I tried so hard to be at least the best, at whatever I was doing. It was exhausting. I did ok at being an over-achiever. Never got anything less than an A- after that, unless you count the quarter grade in 9th grade English that I pulled to an"A" by semester. It was addicting! Once I got that first A in second grade science (yep--I do remember. Unfortunately I have a photographic memory), I knew, even then, that the pressure was on. No one put it there, except for me. I used to throw fits if I made mistakes. They were awful. It made me so anxious to feel inferior. I was tough, and I was not going to let anyone know I wasn't. When I barely managed a B in Environmental Science at Wisconsin Lutheran College, I thought I had failed at life. I'm not exaggerating my reaction either. I felt unloveable. There it was. I thought perfection made me loveable. I didn't know what else could have made me loveable. I had nothing else besides being smart, strong, and tough. I never knew what being human felt like. By that time...feeling ANYTHING at all was crippling, so I just kept doing something. And then I cracked. 

I had to fall, really, really hard. There was a tough shell that had to crack, and it did. There were lots and lots of gaping cracks. I had to be broken so that I could see for myself what was really inside. When it happened, I almost gave up because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make the cracks close up again. Shit, I couldn't even put bandages on the cracks because they were so big! I thought I was broken beyond repair. I was broken. But somehow, I gradually grew to love the beauty that the cracks made. I've always loved the way that old, tarnished, weathered, and antique art has character and one-of-a-kind beauty. I realize that being cracked and broken makes me like the artwork that I have always loved. Not only that, but through the cracks, who I REALLY am shines through. 

Not having cracks was boring and predictable, and I admit, I did like that sometimes. I looked just like every other 20-something-year-old. I wasn't unique at all. I was forcing myself to be someone I wasn't. Being broken has allowed me to discover who I was meant to be all along. For example, if you put a candle in a vase, it gives off little light at all. But, if the vase is cracked, or even if there are huge pieces missing, now you have a beautiful lantern. It's not perfect, it's broken...but it works better than the vase with no cracks. No cracks=no light. A cracked vase isn't useless. Its function has just been transformed. I can't change who I am, and that it couldn't stay hidden inside anymore. I had to crack, because even I didn't know what was inside. In the same way, I couldn't see what was outside either! Through the cracks, I saw other people had beautiful cracks of their own. Some cracks were like mine, some weren't, but none exactly the same. The really hard falls have created the beauty in most of us. I think that true beauty lies in being "broken, but still good." (I borrowed this line from Disney's Lilo & Stitch. Stitch is a havoc-wreaking monster who learns to love, despite his impulse toward evil). Our scars are our cracks--where the beautiful light and love of being human shines through.