One evening, as I was preparing dinner, my 3-year-old son was twirling about the kitchen, lost in his own little rhythm. Suddenly, he halted and fixed his gaze on the side of the refrigerator, pointing at a painting he had created. It was proudly displayed with a magnet he had crafted at school, a cherished emblem of his creativity meant for his father.
In that instant, I watched him tugging at the painting, yearning to reach his beloved snowflake magnet. Before I could intervene, the magnet slipped from its hold and shattered on the tile floor. The sound of breaking ceramic echoed in the air, and his face fell, tears streaming down like a rushing stream. His immediate response was instinctive—he turned to me, a plea in his eyes, asking for my help to mend what had been damaged.
As mothers, we instinctively become the repairers of our children’s world. We are the ones who kiss scraped knees, reassure them that monsters do not exist under their beds, and locate lost toys. I quickly assessed the remnants of the broken snowflake, already searching for my hot glue gun in my mind, when I realized the extent of the damage. It wasn’t just a piece—it had shattered. I embraced him, gently saying, “Sweetheart, it’s broken, and I’m afraid I can’t fix it.”
The concept of something being irreparably broken was incomprehensible to him, and at that moment, I fully grasped his distress.
Having a toddler often means navigating their unique worldview, which can seem unreasonable from an adult perspective. They may ask for the impossible, like having their sandwich cut into specific shapes while balancing a banana on their head. But this situation resonated with me. How could something so dear to him become so broken that it couldn’t be restored?
This experience led me to confront my own feelings of brokenness, not in trivial matters but in significant life events. For years, I might have said something merely “bent me” to avoid confronting the deeper implications of being broken. But today, I acknowledge my own fractures. The loss of my mother was what shattered me—not solely the moment she passed away but the gradual decline I witnessed in her health. Each lost moment, each piece of her vitality slipping away, has left me feeling incomplete. I often find myself observing joyful moments with my children, thinking, “My mom would have adored this,” and that thought breaks me a little more.
We all carry our own burdens of brokenness, whether from small daily wear or major life events that leave us feeling fragmented. What matters is recognizing that embracing our brokenness can lead to healing. I once read about the ancient Japanese art of kintsugi, where broken ceramics are repaired with lacquer mixed with gold. This practice highlights the object’s history and honors its repairs instead of hiding them. What if we, too, could view our brokenness as an opportunity to reveal our most beautiful selves?
As mothers, we strive to protect our children from life’s harsh realities, wishing for them smooth sailing and gentle winds at their backs. Yet, as in the tale of the shattered magnet, I plan to impart wisdom to my son as he faces life’s complexities.
I gathered the remnants of the broken snowflake, placed the magnet back on the refrigerator, and reassured him, “See? It still holds your picture. In fact, we can now appreciate the beauty of the artwork even more because of the missing piece.”
I hope for you, dear children, that when life breaks you, it reveals an opportunity for light to shine through. Always choose to let your brokenness become a source of beauty. After all, the world is in desperate need of more light illuminating the cracks in our lives.
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Summary
This reflection explores the concept of brokenness through a personal anecdote involving a child’s lost magnet and the deeper emotional struggles of loss and healing. It emphasizes the importance of acknowledging our brokenness as a pathway to growth and beauty.