in clover: sacred brokenness

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(This is a post that ran a few years ago...I have no idea why but it wants to post again, today.  Who am I to stand in the way of the spirit?)

In the spring of 2005, I was expecting a baby girl (little c) and a 40 foot high cube container of antiques from England and France.   The few years preceding had been difficult for my extended family…there had been deaths, divorces, financial troubles and other trying personal issues.   Lots of painful change. We had faced some hard times.

Anxious to get the new inventory cleaned, displayed and sold before the baby arrived, I was counting down the days until the ship carrying my container docked in Norfolk, VA.  The container would then make its way by truck to the shop.  Everything would need to be unpacked, cleaned, inventoried, photographed, priced and sold.  Post September 11, the import business had changed a lot but in almost 10 years we had never had any trouble getting our container through customs.   

Never say never.  First the container was detained for X-ray inspection.  Apparently my penchant for old garden and farm tools raised suspicions and so the container was completely unpacked for a physical inspection.  I was physically unable to do heavy lifting so Michael drove to Virginia. He had been told on the phone that he could repack the container.  A container, well packed, is a thing of beauty…hastily packed, it’s a disaster.  Michael drove home a week later, having never been allowed to even lay eyes on our container.

Two weeks later it arrived and we held our breath.   A birdbath…the basin cracked in two…a carton of blue and white porcelain plates shattered.  The leg of a very fine 18^th century buffet, snapped.  The list went on.  As we dug into the middle of the container I came upon a pile of what had once been lovely French earthenware jugs.  I was excited that I had been able to source so many and had imagined how I would display them and how great they would look.  They were shattered inside their shoddily replaced bubble wrap. 

At the end of the day, we realized it could have been worse. The furniture could be repaired, although it would be costly.  I sat on the floor with the damaged plates and a hammer.  I broke them into small pieces and displayed the broken bits in large glass canisters.  Finally I sold the pieces to a woman wanting to learn mosaic work.  Mike glued the birdbath together and brought it to our home…we didn’t think we could guarantee it well enough to feel right about selling it to someone else.  The French jugs were a lost cause except for one that was broken across the middle.  I sat it in an out of the way corner, by my work station, and left it there.

One day, I was helping a client sketch ideas and plans for a small fountain.   She had an old tub to for the base and was looking for something for the actual font.   She decided on an urn…the water would bubble up from the center, cascade down the sides of the urn and back into the tub.  It was going to be lovely.  I had been threatening to add a water feature to our garden for years but I didn’t like the fountains I saw for sale at home improvement stores.     

Hmmmm….

I wandered the store looking for pieces to combine into a fountain.  One of the biggest hurdles to designing a fountain is hiding the pump.  I knew that my fountain would go under a dogwood tree so it needed to be low to the ground…not too tall.  A low stone trough would be great but what to go with it?

Maybe an urn like my client chose?  No, the colors were too similar.  An enamel body pitcher?  No, it would rust out in a season and the scale was all wrong. Maybe an English watering can?  No, just didn’t look right.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the two pieces of the broken French jug.  I set the top in the trough.  The angle of the break was just right…just right for a fountain!  The dark brown color stood out against the putty colored stone.  And best of all, because the bottom was missing (broken), the pump would be easily hidden.  Voila!  My perfect fountain.

Most of the time, I am able to see the sacred in wholeness. But when something breaks, I try to fix it. And that’s ok…many things CAN be mended.  In fact, in this disposable world we live in, more things SHOULD be mended.  When things can’t be fixed or we won’t take the time or the trouble to try, we often dispose of them….send them off to the landfill where we don’t have to see them anymore.   

But there is sacredness in the broken things too…broken things, broken relationships, even broken people.   It’s all sacred.  When something breaks and cannot be fixed, we have an opportunity to re-vision it…give it a new purpose.  Instead of banishing it from our sight, we can learn to live with the imperfection…the loss.  We can sit and look at the broken things…learn to appreciate them fully…even come to love them… maybe even more than we did in their wholeness. 

As a whole, perfect thing, the French jug would have sat in my dining room…a lovely display. But in its brokenness, the jug directs cool water into a basin….the water makes music …robins bath in my fountain every morning!  Children cannot resist dipping their hands into the stream.   

I am aware that the jug, in its brokenness, is much, much more fragile than when it was whole.  When the weather turns cool, I do not take a chance.  A cold snap would shatter it for sure.  I store it more carefully than I do the other summer things.  For one thing, how would I replace it? Where does one find a broken jug for sale?  The jug, BECAUSE of its brokenness, is precious to me.   In some ways, it is irreplaceable.

I wonder how it would feel if we treated the broken and chipped places of our hearts with the same care?   As a trainee to become a Spiritual Director, I am required to receive spiritual direction.  I think that so far, most of what I have been learning is just that…to accept, love and cherish those things about me that are nicked…cracked….even shattered.  When we search for the sacred, I hope we do not over look the broken things.

Peace, 

Lisa

in clover: getting unstuck

I've been stuck in a bit of a rut lately.  It's ok, happens to the best of us. And being stuck in a rut is not all bad.  Sometimes, it is helpful to be in a "rut."  Sometimes, we just need to get where we need to go without having to think much about it.  But other times, we need to break out of the rut. 

I felt ready to be unstuck so I started moving things around. When I get stuck, it's the first thing I do.  I move things around in my physical environment.  Things I all ready have.  You'd be surprised by the difference that can be made, just by rearranging things a bit.  I moved things around inside the house last week.   Still stuck.  So I went outside....

The first thing I moved was this succulent I had planted in the wall pocket that hangs on the gate to the chicken courtyard.  I'd never felt quite satisfied with the way it looked.  Out of balance.  Not terrible but not quite right, either.  

I replaced it with this little guy which I think IS just right. 



  

Remember my post  about sacred brokenness?  Well, as is often the case, I have been given an opportunity to practice what I preach.  These are the window boxes by my back door last summer. 

I have had these planters as long as I have lived in this house.  Every year I congratulate myself on my good luck at finding pretty, reasonably priced, long lasting pottery planters that JUST FIT my concrete window ledges like they were custom made!

This year I lined the planters up on the ground for a new planting…all six in a row...

I added compost and plants to the six boxes and fit them snugly together on the ledge.  One, two, three, four, five...

 and then six.... 

I don’t know what happened.  It simply slipped from my hand.  Smashed on the concrete.   Can't be mended.

I was home alone and I could have cursed at the top of my lungs but I remembered that post about sacred brokenness.  So I allowed myself one quick, angry lap around the garden, fists clinched, and then I took a deep breath because there’s no sense crying over spilled milk or broken window boxes.

As I gathered the broken pieces, I realized they were too pretty to throw away.  To honor the lovely brokenness of the pottery, I placed the bits here, in this flower bed.  For the past few years, this has been my herb garden but in the spirit of moving things around I decided to move the herbs and  throw down about a zillion zinnia seeds here, among the instantly gratifying but quite expensive (compared to seeds) zinnia plants I bought at Wilson’s. Once things start to grow, I'll move the broken bits around again.

I spread out the five remaining boxes until the space on the ledge was evenly filled.  I thought to myself, “its kind of ZEN to leave a little blank space between the planters….like the beads of silence interspersed on my prayer bracelet.” 

After much reflection, I think I actually like them better this way.    

I’ve also changed the plantings in the window boxes themselves this year.  I’ve mixed up my  color scheme…throwing in some red, orange and yellow by adding basil, rosemary, Tequila mix rose moss, red calibrachoa  and giant Antigua Orange marigolds to my usual pink geraniums, asparagus fern and sweet alyssum.  I also swapped out the planters that sit on the steps under the window boxes.  I moved the very traditional dark green concrete planters filled with Lipstick Impatiens to the front steps. 

I replaced them with more contemporary plastic moss green urns and repeated the same plants.  (Got the urns at Target…a bargain at under $7 each!)  I've never had plastic urns before but I was drawn to the color and simple lines of these.  I looked at them at least a dozen times before I gave in and put them in the cart.

For a finishing touch, I swapped a (mildewed) khaki and black chaise lounge cushion for a bright green one.   (Home Depot - $19.99)  There is a lot of vibrant color in this corner now and I really like it.

I also made one more big change.  I did something I don't think I have EVER done before.  I bought some plastic chairs. It's not that I have anything against plastic...it's just that plastic, by it's very nature, cannot be rusty or have peely paint...traits that make my heart beat faster. 

Out front, I have these lovely handmade wooden Adirondacks (a gift from a sweet friend). And I LOVE them.

But I went with plastic for the back garden. They will dry quickly after a rain or a squirt from a garden hose.  They are lightweight and very easy to move off the grass.  Big C sometimes mows around the heavy wooden chairs which doesn't make me very happy. 

I like to move the chairs around to the ever elusive shady spot in the afternoon.  These are maintenance free, inexpensive ($16 on sale at Target) and come in very pretty colors these days.  I can't imagine I would ever want ALL plastic furniture, no matter how convenient or practical, but I am definitely enjoying these two chairs.   

I chose blue to pick up the blue roof on little c's house...

which, yikes, I just remembered is also made of plastic!  The little house was a gift to her on her 3rd birthday.  At the time, it was a choice between the cutest plastic house I could find or no house at all, despite the elaborate plans I had drawn for a custom made playhouse named Foxglove Cottage. 

I've decided to crown myself Queen of Good Enough and just get on with life!  This house with the blue roof was definitely Good Enough and little c and half the kids in the neighborhood love playing in it, plastic or not. 

The blue also shows up in this bistro table...

And in my broken blue vintage French seltzer bottle...

I think I moved myself right out of that rut.  

Namaste, 

Lisa   



in clover: sacred brokenness



My empty container in England waiting to be filled

In the spring of 2005, I was expecting a baby girl (little c) and a 40 foot high cube container of antiques from England and France.   The few years preceding had been difficult for my extended family…there had been deaths, divorces, financial troubles and other trying personal issues.   Lots of painful change. Hard times.

A pregnant me, shopping to fill the container

Anxious to get the new inventory cleaned, displayed and sold before the baby arrived, I was counting down the days until the ship carrying my container docked in Norfolk, VA.  The container would then make its way by truck to the shop.  Everything would need to be unpacked, cleaned, inventoried, photographed, priced and sold.  Post September 11, the import business had changed a lot but in almost 10 years we had never had any trouble getting our container through customs.  

Never say never.  First the container was detained for X-ray inspection.  Apparently my penchant for old garden and farm tools raised suspicions and so the container was completely unpacked for a physical inspection.  I was physically unable to do heavy lifting so Michael drove to Virginia. He had been told on the phone that he could repack the container.  A container, well packed, is a thing of beauty…hastily packed, it’s a disaster.  Michael drove home a week later, having never been allowed to even lay eyes on our container.

Two weeks later it arrived and we held our breath.   A birdbath…the basin cracked in two…a carton of blue and white porcelain plates shattered…the leg of a very fine 18^th century buffet, snapped.  The list went on.  As we dug into the middle of the container I came upon a pile of what had once been lovely French earthenware jugs.  I was excited that I had been able to source so many and I had imagined how I would display them and how great they would look.  They were in pieces inside the shoddily replaced bubble wrap. 

At the end of the day, we realized it could have been worse. The furniture could be repaired, although it would be costly.  I sat on the floor with the damaged plates and a hammer.  I broke them into small pieces and displayed the broken bits in large glass canisters.  Finally I sold the pieces to a woman wanting to learn mosaic work.  Mike glued the birdbath together and brought it to our home…we didn’t think we could guarantee it well enough to sell it to someone else.  The French jugs were a lost cause except for one that was broken across the middle.  I sat it in an out of the way corner, by my work station, and left it there.

One day, I was helping a client sketch ideas and plans for a small fountain.   She had an old tub she would use for the base but was looking for something for the font.   She decided on an urn…the water would bubble up from the center, cascade down the sides of the urn and back into the tub.  It was going to be lovely.  I had been threatening to add a water feature to our garden for years but I didn’t like the fountains I saw for sale at home improvement stores.    

Hmmmm….

I wandered the store looking for pieces to combine into a fountain.   I knew that my fountain would go under a dogwood tree so it needed to be low to the ground…not too tall.  A low stone trough would be great but what to go with it? I had to keep in mind one of the biggest hurdles to designing a fountain… hiding the pump.

Maybe an urn like my client chose?  No, the colors were too similar.  An enamel body pitcher?  No, it would rust out in a season and the scale was all wrong. Maybe an English watering can?  No, just didn’t look right.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the two pieces of the broken French jug.  I set the top in the trough.  The angle of the break was just right for a fountain!  The dark brown color stood out against the putty colored stone.  And best of all, because the bottom was missing (broken), the pump would be easily hidden.  Voila!  My perfect fountain, born of imperfection.

Most of the time, I am able to see the sacred in wholeness. But when something breaks, I try to fix it. And that’s ok…many things CAN be mended.  In fact, in this disposable world we live in, more things SHOULD be mended.  When things can’t be fixed or we won’t take the time or the trouble to try, we often dispose of them post haste….sending them off to the landfill where we don’t have to see them anymore.  

But there is sacredness in the broken things too…broken things, broken relationships, broken people.   They are all sacred.  When something breaks and cannot be fixed, we have an opportunity to re-vision it…give it a new purpose.  Instead of banishing it from our sight, we can learn to live with the imperfection…the loss.  We can sit and look at the broken things…learn to appreciate them fully…even come to love them… maybe love them even more than we did in their wholeness. 

As a whole, perfect thing, the French jug would have sat in my dining room…a lovely display. But in its brokenness, the jug spills water into a basin and makes music.  Children cannot resist dipping their hands into the stream and robins bath in my fountain every morning, throwing their heads back under the water!  

I am aware that the jug, in its brokenness, is much, much more fragile than when it was whole.  When the weather turns cool, I do not take a chance.  A cold snap would shatter it for sure.  I store it more carefully than I do the other summer things.  For one thing, how would I replace it? Where does one find a broken jug for sale?  The jug, BECAUSE of its brokenness, is even more precious to me.  

little c and the fountain

I wonder how it would feel if we treated the broken and chipped places of our hearts and lives with the same care as I give my fragile, broken jug?   As a trainee to become a Spiritual Director, I am required to receive spiritual direction.  I think that so far, most of what I have learned is that…to accept, love and cherish those things about me that are nicked…cracked….even shattered. 

One of the Webster Online definitions for brokenness is:  "disrupted by change."  That's definitely something to reflect on.   

In our search for the sacred, I hope we do not over look the broken things.

Peace, 

Lisa