The winds blew strong,
The lightning flashed,
The thunder crashed,
And it poured.
I came home yesterday and saw something I did not expect to see.
The tree stood taller than it once had. I remember when it was just a baby, back when I was young(er). I had not realized how much it had grown. So tall!
I noticed now because of the pile of branches on the ground.
The storm had come, the rain had poured, and that tree broke -
Almost in two.
Broken and scarred.
Half of the branches, half of the leaves could be found lying on the ground, half-attached to the trunk.
Half of that tree was gone, destined to die (if not considered dead already).
She said today, "I don't know what to do about that tree."
She said it as if she wanted to get rid of it.
After all, who wants to have a broken tree in the front yard, where anyone can see it?
When it blooms, who wants to look at the half and ache to remember that it once was whole?
Or could it become whole again?
I looked at the tree yesterday and thought, "We are this way."
We start so small, fragile, and weak.
We grow bigger and stronger and more beautiful.
We think we look best this way - whole.
Then the storm comes.
Then something is lost.
Broken and scarred.
We are devastated to be this way, . . .
Split in two.
We try to pretend that we're still whole, . . .
But anyone can see that we're not.
There are many trees where I live, but my favorite stands at the side of the yard.
It has been there for a long time, probably since long before I was born.
It has always been my favorite.
I didn't used to know why, still . . .
I buried my baby bunny underneath its branches,
I spent so much time looking at it and staring in awe.
My parents told me that this tree had been struck by lightning.
I can see the scar.
This tree has been broken.
It is still a little broken.
Broken and scarred.
I like that.
I like that because this tree is special.
It was hurt by the storm more than most trees are, but it survived.
I can see the proof.
I see the scar . . .
And I call it "character".
This tree has character.
It is not perfect.
It knows what it is to be broken.
It knows what it is to be scarred.
It still stands, tall and proud as ever.
Maybe if it had never been hit, it would be a little fuller, a little more "perfect".
To me, it's full enough the way it is, more perfect broken than it ever was "whole".
"Sweetly broken."
"Broken and beautiful."
To me, this tree is whole.
In fact, it is more whole than any other tree I've ever seen.
The fullness of time has healed the wound,
Left the scar,
And proven truth.
It's true - broken can be beautiful.
Why do we try to hide our brokenness?
Why do we see this as broken, but not beautiful?
It is the brokenness that makes a person unique - with a story unlike anyone else's.
It is the brokenness that makes a person more - more loving, more caring, more. More than he or she ever was before.
It is the brokenness that makes a person into who he or she is supposed to be.
Growth doesn't come without rain.
Healing doesn't come without scars.
True beauty doesn't come without brokenness.
Still we hide the broken, the scarred.
Why?
Isn't this beautiful?
"Sweetly Broken", used as the title of this blog, is a song performed (and probably written, though I'm not entirely sure,) by Jeremy Riddle. "Broken and Beautiful" is a song written and preformed by Mark Schultz. The idea that scars can look more like character comes, at least in part, from the song "Less Like Scars", written and preformed by Sara Groves. Many thanks to these people for their inspiring music.
The phrase "broken and scarred" is from one of my own songs, "Always", which is about Joseph (the one in the Old Testament with the awesome coat who went through quite an ordeal to become who God wanted him to be).
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