I love things rustic and natural.
wood. rocks. steel with rust. pottery. wrought iron. plants.
And I love our home.
I picked up this little wrought iron word …. uhm ….. somewhere along the way.
It sat on the mantle in my autumn vignette
and it made me smile.
Home is such a warm word.
And I love my home. It’s a beautiful place to be. There is warmth. It is inviting. It is a retreat. Anyone is welcome here. The door is always open.
One evening while sitting around chatting with friends,
James, seated beneath the mantle, stretched a long, lanky boy-stretch
and knocked my “home” right off the mantle.
Though made of metal, it broke.
He was deeply contrite. And as he apologized, he laughed and said
“Now, you can say I’m the cause of our ‘broken home.'”
Rather than tossing my broken treasure, I decided to keep it and
craft it into something new.
I saw this little plaque at Hobby Lobby and was inspired
to create something with my snapped wrought iron prize.
In the last year, I’ve given a great deal of thought to
love, acceptance and beauty.
I’ve struggled off and on through the years with depression
and I’ve always been a self-hater.
You could give me a compliment,
but I couldn’t say thank you
because I probably didn’t believe you.
I might be able to believe you more quickly if you were
complimenting something I “DID”
rather than something about my physical appearance or my character.
How many people live their lives disliking themselves
because they don’t live up to someone else’s standards or likes?
And what if that other person is broken, as well?
What if they aren’t in a healthy place to judge whether something is
good or beautiful or worthy?
Maybe that person is bitter, angry or wounded
so they simply lash out at the closest person to them?
And who would the closest person be?
Naturally, someone in their family….
like a sister, brother or cousin … a child or niece or nephew or spouse.
But, wait! Aren’t we all wounded? Don’t we all have scars?
Haven’t we all experienced injury? Disappointment? Betrayal?
So, when it comes down to the bottom line:
we are all in the same “broken” boat.
And so, I gather supplies … scraps …. pieces
and I craft and create … I knit and weave a tapestry of healing
on canvas and
in our broken home.
I have an idea in mind … but don’t know what the final outcome will look like.
I want my children to know they are worthy.
I want others to walk in the door and feel the spirit of love and acceptance.
I want to encourage and refresh.
I want this broken home with wounded people
to be a place of refuge and solace
because others know that we, too, are the same.
(Note: Go here to see the finished product)