Broken, And Glory Bound.

This week's writing assignment: Restorative Measures.

 Psalm 34:18

                Is it possible to fix what’s shattered?   True, the shards can be gathered into a resemblance of their former shape, but the black cracks are forever a silent testament to immutable laws that - given ripe opportunity - cause violent destruction.  What restorative measure is there that will fill what’s defiled, smooth what’s jagged, soften what’s sharp?  These puzzle pieces require more than glue and patience; they cannot regain their former glory without once again surrendering to destruction, returning to their basic elements in a crucible.  Soft, careful forces can then shape them once more into a whole; a usable vessel unblemished by its past.  It is the only way.

                It goes against all instinct, all nature, to hail the molten crucible as a restorative; surely destruction heaped upon destruction cannot be a good plan, cannot be for the best!  Yet it must be so, for all nature must pass through such fire to find refinement, and refinement is to be wished by our nature, longed for, in fact.

                Thus is the dissonance found in our core: to long desperately for the glimmering only attainable through the inferno we long desperately to avoid.  We hang back like shy children before this hard truth: only by plunging into terrifying oblivion can we discover the balm of wholeness.