Good morning everyone! Last night I had the choice between blogging or going out for a late night snack with friends whom I haven't seen in a year. Frankly speaking, it wasn't a tough choice. But the internet is working in this building now and there are a lot of people with laptops. (Writer's conference you know!) Thus, I should be able to keep up blogging from here.
It feels SOOOOO GOOD to be together again as an editorial board along with several other young adults, many of whom are authors in the book. We were so excited to see each other, hug each other, and catch up one one another's lives. Last night several of us went out for a late night snack and we agreed we hadn't laughed that much in a long time. I think we all needed that release. We have worked so hard these last few years on this book, brainstorming for it, traveling and speaking, talking about the submissions, editing it, along with hundreds and thousands of other decisions, that it feels fantastic to hold it in our hands. As Harriet and I agreed last night, it is like holding a baby that has just been born. We are such proud parents.
So since most of yesterday was a travel day, ten and a half hours in the car (it was beautiful), I thought today's post could be more reflective.
On Monday I was in the glass hall that holds the Liberty Bell. To get to the bell, you walk through the long exhibit hall that talks about the history of the bell: why it was made, when it cracked, the repairs done, where it hung, the special occasions on which it was rung, the story of how it cracked again, and then the symbol of liberty it became to people all across the nation, and even, around the world. It occurred to me, while gazing at the bell that this object is cracked, it does not serve the purpose people originally thought it was created for. The bell is broken. Or is it? Could it be that it is because the bell is cracked we love it so? Does it stand for liberty because we see ourselves inside of it? Why is it we hold up what is broken as the enduring symbol of freedom? The enduring symbol of our ability to raise our voices across the land after we have overcome? This bell that no longer sounds is the symbol of the sound of freedom. It's message is quiet; it's in the Liberty Bell's very existence, its survival and enduring presence amongst us, that it speaks most loudly.
We love what is broken. We love looking at this cracked bell because it gives us hope for ourselves. We have all been broken in some way. It is a part of this world and our lives within it. We all think we have places within us where we have gone wrong and not done what we were intended for. We weep over our brokenness and are ashamed of our crack. We hide it. But what if we choose not to be ashamed? What if we choose not to be embarrassed? What if we make a different choice, a different knowing of the truth? Could it be that our greatest, most powerful truth is lived out through our crack? Could it be we could be proud of our crack, as a badge of honor and the enduring power of God's love and triumphal redemption? Maybe our cracks aren't cracks after all along with that inherent judgement we place upon ourselves. Could we transform our cracks if we choose not to judge them? Could we too be symbols of liberty and freedom for others? Not freedom in perfection, but freedom in our humanity, our seemingly imperfect, wonderfully cracked, beautifully designed and created humanity? Could we just let ourselves be who we are, accept that in ourselves, and let our lives speak for themselves, raising our voices, both in sound and in presence? Gary Chapman says, "The parts of ourselves left out of our offering [our lives] weaken our gift." If we do not acknowledge all of ourselves and live out of that, we weaken the gift of ourselves God wants to give the world. We are each an expression of God. Why would we want to hide even the smallest bit of his face?
I saw a beautiful illustration of this in the Magic Garden. This man has taken broken tiles, old glass bottles, well-used plates, bowls and cups, old metal wheels from bicycles, and created an astounding mosaic grotto. It is a place of beauty, of rest and creativity. You see yourself in the shards of mirrors that scatter the light. This man has taken what is old, unused, and broken, and created something of incredible beauty. You can never get enough of it. You always see more. You see, it is not despite of but because the pieces are broken, because they are cracked that he can use them. Only when they are willing to be what they truly are, apparent cracks and all, only then can he place them into this beautiful design that speaks of life and wonderment.
When we bewail our cracks and hide them away, it is as if we are staying in the box in our master's workshop refusing to come out. We refuse to be placed in the design because we don't want anyone to see our broken places. We are ashamed of ourselves. What we don't understand is God is not ashamed of our cracks and neither should we be. Perhaps he even placed them there because they are the most powerful places he created within us. They are his glory shining out in our power. Let this liberty, this freedom, ring out across the land. Let our voices sing "We are broken. We are good and we are glad." May we be proud of our cracks.
Labels: Freedom, Philadelphia, Quaker Youth Book Project, Richmond
