“Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful parts of us.”
—David Richo
Like pottery mended with veins of gold, our scars can become the very places where God’s beauty shines brightest.
I used to think brokenness was just a season to get through, like a bad storm you simply had to survive. But brokenness has a way of reordering life. You can’t go back to “normal,” because time moves on and the old normal no longer fits.
For me, it began with an ache I couldn’t name. I was looking for someone to tell me when it would be over. I didn’t want to be caught in yet another story of broken trust. Outwardly, everything looked fine, but inside something was shattered. I kept running—from love, from vulnerability, even from myself.
The faith that had carried me this far felt too small to carry me home. The coping strategies I had trusted—keeping busy, biting my tongue, and holding people at arm’s length—no longer worked. And under the weight of loss and disappointment, the cracks in my soul began to show.
Brokenness humbles you. It strips away illusions. It peels back the polish and the practiced smile and asks, Who are you, really? For a long time, I didn’t have an answer.
It was in that emptiness that God met me—not with a quick fix, but with a quiet invitation: Be still. Let me in.
The Slow Work of Wholeness
Wholeness didn’t come overnight. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve “arrived” at wholeness at all. I’ve learned that wholeness isn’t a destination; it’s a process. It’s not about being unscarred; it’s about being integrated—woven into Someone greater than me, greater than my brokenness, greater than my fears. And that couldn’t be found in more possessions, more trips, or more knowledge. It’s found in living as one no longer defined by wounds, but marked by grace.
The journey unfolded slowly, like stepping stones across a river:
Awakening to the truth that life as I knew it wasn’t sustainable.
Surrendering my need to control outcomes.
Inviting God and trusted friends into the mess.
Allowing transformation to reshape how I see myself, God, and others.
Integrating my story—broken chapters and all—into a life that’s becoming whole.
Some days I still feel the weight of the past. But I also see beauty where I once saw only loss. I see God’s hand where I used to feel alone. Like a pot mended with gold, my scars now tell a truer story—not of shame, but of redemption.
Reflection Break
Wholeness does not erase pain. It transforms it. Scars remain, but they become reminders of God’s healing rather than proof of our shame. Like the Japanese art of Kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired with veins of gold, God’s grace fills our cracks with beauty that shines brighter than the unbroken surface ever could.
Today, if you feel far from whole, take heart: Jesus is not ashamed of your scars. He carries His own.
Questions to Consider
Where are you still trying to “hold it all together” instead of inviting God into your weakness?
What can you celebrate today? What’s helping you move toward wholeness?
How could your scars become a testimony of grace for others?
A Soft Prayer
Lord, I bring You the pieces of my life—those I understand and those I don’t.
Teach me to rest in Your presence, even in my brokenness.
Mend me, not by hiding the cracks, but by filling them with Your grace.
Let Your beauty be seen in every scar.
God of healing, Come.
living as one no longer defined by wounds, but marked by grace…❤️