Broken but Beautiful
A year and a half after my mental-health hospitalization, God left me a love note. This was not the first and certainly not the last, but this one was special, because it was one that I could physically tuck away in my box of keepsakes. You could argue that it wasn’t for me. Or that it was a coincidence. But I have no doubt that it was a gift of encouragement meant for me. It was left on the windowsill of the chapel and if the gold foil hadn’t caught my eye, I might have missed it.
While I had been praying in the adoration chapel, a lady had dropped by for a few minutes. She had quietly tidied the books on the shelf and before she left, she had placed a few cards on the windowsill. She didn’t know she was leaving me a love note from God. But that is exactly what she did.
One of the cards on the windowsill bore an image of Mary. Held delicately in her hand was a beautiful rose laced with strands of red foil. But it wasn’t the rose that brought tears to my eyes. It was how the artist had depicted Mary. It was as if she had been shattered and then pieced back together. The mosaic was breathtaking.
Earlier in the week, I read the story of Humpty Dumpty to my children. After I closed the book, my son shared that he felt sad that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again. I couldn’t help but think about how well I can relate to the fate of Humpty Dumpty. That like his fall from the wall, mental illness has often left me feeling shattered beyond repair.
But then I saw Mary. Shattered but whole. Broken but beautiful. And in that moment, I realized that this card was meant for me. Because here is what I know—Mary’s world might have felt shattered by the suffering of her Son, but even then, she trusted that this suffering had meaning. The world may have pierced her heart with thorns, but even then, she was still able to bear something extraordinarily beautiful—hope.
This card was meant for me, but its message is for everyone. We can be both—shattered but whole, broken but beautiful, hurting but hopeful.
While I had been praying in the adoration chapel, a lady had dropped by for a few minutes. She had quietly tidied the books on the shelf and before she left, she had placed a few cards on the windowsill. She didn’t know she was leaving me a love note from God. But that is exactly what she did.
One of the cards on the windowsill bore an image of Mary. Held delicately in her hand was a beautiful rose laced with strands of red foil. But it wasn’t the rose that brought tears to my eyes. It was how the artist had depicted Mary. It was as if she had been shattered and then pieced back together. The mosaic was breathtaking.
Earlier in the week, I read the story of Humpty Dumpty to my children. After I closed the book, my son shared that he felt sad that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again. I couldn’t help but think about how well I can relate to the fate of Humpty Dumpty. That like his fall from the wall, mental illness has often left me feeling shattered beyond repair.
But then I saw Mary. Shattered but whole. Broken but beautiful. And in that moment, I realized that this card was meant for me. Because here is what I know—Mary’s world might have felt shattered by the suffering of her Son, but even then, she trusted that this suffering had meaning. The world may have pierced her heart with thorns, but even then, she was still able to bear something extraordinarily beautiful—hope.
This card was meant for me, but its message is for everyone. We can be both—shattered but whole, broken but beautiful, hurting but hopeful.
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