Broken

broken:
bro·ken (brkn)
v.
Past participle of break.
adj.
Forcibly separated into two or more pieces; fractured; Sundered by divorce, separation, or desertion of a parent or parents or loved one; Having been violated; Incomplete; Being in a state of disarray; disordered; Intermittently stopping and starting; discontinuous; Topographically rough; uneven; Subdued totally; humbled; Crushed by grief; Financially ruined; bankrupt; Not functioning; out of order; East of Eden.

My studio of work called “Broken” is very personal to me. It started out with an innocent curiosity and fascination with a construction method; I wanted to explore the design intricacies and possibilities of what might be an end product. When I began making the first piece, “Porcelain Heart,” in a new series of work, it coincidentally happened during a particular fragile place in my world where nothing made sense and each day was made up of events that I could have never predicted nor planned. I have heard it said that there are no coincidences in life. I think there is some truth to that.

As I continued with the construction, like many of my pieces, I had no idea what the end result would be until it was finished. I faithfully continued creating. Part of the mystery of the process is when all the fractured parts and pieces go back together, and the whole is revealed at the end.

When I began the design process of this quilt, I contemplated what “brokenness” means and that it can be messy at times – it hurts, it is not fun, and for me, it makes me want to flip to the next chapter in the book to find out how the story ends. In reality, I often see redemption in my rear view mirror. The way the pieces of brokenness get put back together is never the way I would have imagined or dreamed, the search for purpose not yet revealed. But more times than not, I am reminded once again, that the bigger picture can be found in the details, rearranged by the hands of God.

So I cried out and prayed, “How is this story going to end?” I got my answer: “Wait, listen, and begin again…”

~Melanie DeMerschman
pdxstudioquilts.com

I Come to the Garden Alone

I took to the women's getaway like a person who breathes a fresh breath of Autumn air, thinking to myself, it is good for me to spend time with God, it is good for me to spend time with other women exploring the depth He has in our lives, it is good for me to take time and pray, and think, and be.

Those things happened, but what I felt more was God’s voice saying, “It is good for ME that you are here as well.” For a very real moment, I realized something that I’ve bothered to ignore for the past few years: God delights in the time I spend with Him, when I come honestly and truthfully. It’s not a one-way road – He likes it too. It’s not a task to get those moments with Him; they are sacred and blessed moments full of grace and beauty.

God likes spending time with me though?

Me? The one who gets distracted? The one that can’t seem to stop comparing?

Yes me. Abundantly. Because I am His daughter, a chosen one.

And He revealed something to me in that time. At the getaway, Heather read a Lament by a woman after the loss of her son. It included a reference to John 11:17, “Jesus comforts the sisters.”

I lost my brother due to cancer more than a decade ago, and yet still I ache. I wonder “why,” I wonder “if.” My face is filled with tears at times. But the scripture, “Jesus Wept,” never rang more true than in that intimate time I had with Him over the weekend.

I realized Jesus was grieving with me as well. He knew how I felt, and He felt it too. He wept. I always knew He was there with me. I always knew that He had a plan for my life, and for my brother’s, as well. What I didn’t really realize until then, when I spent a substantial time in that passage, was that He hurt too. He understood my pain.

So praise be to our Father who not only died for us, but endures our hurts and sorrows along with us, and shows us the joy that comes along with the morning’s daylight.

~Lisa Nelson

Cat's Cradle

To be known is perhaps the deepest need we have, but when it comes to vulnerability, we develop ways to prevent ourselves from being open and allowing ourselves to be known. Each person has constructed a personal battalion of self-protecting mechanisms like keeping up a certain image or maintaining surface-level friendships only. Unfortunately, many of these methods end up being self-destructive, rather than achieving their intent of personal safety.

The thread represents the things inside ourselves that keep us tangled up and held back. All at the same time, we are unraveling and tied up by self-created constructs. The old trunk in the background is filled up with rusty tools and saws; though they never made it into the picture, they were intended to represent those weapons we have formed to keep ourselves free from being seen.

I often use birds or feathers in my work to show freedom and potential for growth. Just below the thread-wrapped hands of the model is the dangling silhouette of a bird in flight. This is intended to show that the potential for freedom is looming, but not yet attained.

We must learn to grow in vulnerability as individuals and as a community, to move out of isolation, to get over the fear of wanting. I think that sometimes we are afraid to “want” because it leaves room for disappointment. Sometimes it seems better to stay numb and dead because to prevent failure or additional hurt.

We need to allow the knowledge of God’s love to penetrate our hearts, to actually believe it and find safety in it. Out of that safety and freedom, then, we can move into a place of acknowledging our frailty and our need for others. Learning to depend on others and to allow them in is an act of trust and obedience. Through the seeming display of weakness we would not find broken trust or further disappointment, but rather be surprised by the community and relationships that arise as we carry each other’s burdens. True freedom is found in love as it casts out fear and allows us to live as we were meant to be.

~Rebecca Blevins