The Beauty of Scars

Can anything beautiful come out of brokenness? Does being shattered have to mean the end of hope, or can our fragments be repurposed, offering a chance of new life? 

In Spring 2022, I held in my hands the jagged fragments of a Japanese bowl I’d rescued decades earlier when a shelf of dishes unexpectedly crashed. In tears, I’d picked up all the pieces and packed them in a nondescript box. Those broken pieces then traveled with me, my husband and our oldest son through six moves to four different states. 

Now, I joined six others around a table as we contemplated our broken heirlooms. Together, in their restoration, we would learn not to hide the scars but highlight their beauty.  

Japan was my birthplace, which led to a lifelong love for the people and culture. So, when I heard about a kintsugi experience workshop, I drove five hours to the table where our facilitator described this 400-year-old Japanese art form. Kin means gold and tsugi means repair. Kintsugi involves the art of using gold to mend broken pottery or ceramics. 

Seeing a bowl mended with kintsugi brings a hope-filled image to life. A tangible artifact of how God takes our brokenness and makes us beautiful in His time.  

In this day, this space, God met me and helped me put some of my jagged pieces back together. 

Processing the brokenness 

All of us around the table beheld the broken pieces of our dishes. We took the time to slow down and to reflect, to consider the rough edges. My thoughts centered on the painful transitions that had shaped my life.  

More than 25 years earlier, my family and I returned from the mission field after spending just 40 days and nights in Nepal. Our visas never arrived to serve in India, and after a summer of waiting, the door closed, and our dreams and hearts were broken.  

Shortly after, we moved from California to Colorado, where we had to redefine ourselves and find our feet again. No longer commissioned, no longer known, we also felt no longer seen.  

After three and a half years in Colorado, we again prepared to be uprooted—this time to Nebraska, for church planting. That’s when the dishes crashed to the floor. The flood of grief that followed seemed to combine all the loss, shattered dreams and unmet expectations. Yet in my tears, God laid on my heart that it was time to move on, and I needed to resist the urge to stay comfortable. He had provided in the past; surely, He would provide again.  

Hope formed 

The shattered pieces in my hands represented all the moves, shifting relationships, fresh goodbyes and disappointments in church planting.  

Here I sat in a community of strangers beholding the broken. Strangers, so I thought. Our facilitator Steve happened to be a member of an EFCA church and was born in the city of Kanazawa, Japan––my own birthplace. In fact, his 93-year-old mother remembered my mother from the days our families overlapped in Japan. To my right sat another person who happened to go to my large church, but I was meeting them for the first time. A table five hours away brought me closer to a community of shared experiences and connection in telling our stories. 

We beheld, then we held. As I pushed and held my pieces, before taping and gluing them, I thought about how God holds us in our grief while He orchestrates our healing. I understood the intimate vulnerability it takes to allow the holding.  

Then my mind shifted toward hope—hope in what God can do with the shattered if we lean into His purposes. “Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope” (Rom 5:3-4, ESV).  

 Facilitating and naming 

This hope in God alone drove me to pursue training through Academy Kintsugi to facilitate kintsugi experiences. Now I set the table for others to process their brokenness and help them take a step toward wholeness, understanding and hope. I have served churches, private and public parties as well as facilitating kintsugi experiences with ReachGlobal missionaries at their divisional conference in Poland, the Challenge Lead team and my Prepared cohort during a retreat gathering. As a participant wrote me six months after our time together, “Not a day goes by where I don’t look on my piece and reflect on my own brokenness, and how God has and is still mending me and putting me back together.”   

A significant part of a kintsugi experience involves naming. The mended piece represents God’s transforming work in each participant, so people select names such as “Abide,” “Shalom,” “New Day” and “Grafted In. “ 

I chose “Courage” for a piece I worked on when the pit in my stomach ached for release. As I mended and shaped the piece, I reflected on how God wants us to choose the hard road of reconciliation, even when the timing is not always in our control.  

This reconciliation mindset applies not only to people but also to brokenness all around us. Rather than throwing away a broken wall clock, we repurposed one into an end table clock. Refinishing and repurposing have taken on new understanding for me as I work in this field of restoration.  

Mending in community 

A couple of years ago, ReachGlobal formed a community called Let’s Art Collective where missionaries meet for support and connection throughout the year. I’ve had the joy of serving on this team where different artists within ReachGlobal have been featured and interviewed. After my own interview on my kintsugi journey, a ReachGlobal missionary has taken off with her own ministry focus using kintsugi as an outreach tool. Another ReachGlobal missionary has focused on the arts in Japan and its unique impact in gospel conversations. The Japan team has also had opportunity to experience modern kintsugi by another Academy Kintsugi facilitator when she was in Japan. The use of arts as a tool in kingdom work is active and growing. 

While I could mend pieces on my own, the value of mending in community has been profound. Sharing our named pieces creates pathways for connection and shared experiences. The latest workshop I facilitated included a group from a church where years of attendees knew only the surface of each other’s stories. Ministry happened across the table as stories unfolded, and each participant felt seen and heard. We hold the space as we listen and attend to each other. We are seen. We are heard. 

The process is always unpredictable. A piece may not adhere correctly, or a hole left intentionally becomes symbolic of the loss felt. One participant intentionally left space open in a teacup she mended. When it came time to share, she mentioned she had lost her brother and father in the past year. The open space reflected her tremendous sense of loss and grief for those missing in her life. At home, she placed a candle in the cup, beautifully reflecting her openness for God’s light to shine through.  

Gold applied 

The final stage in the modern kintsugi experience involves applying the gold. Gold powder is mixed with ureshi, a Japanese lacquer and painted delicately on to the fractures. These fractures in our ceramics become mended scars. Painting the gold highlights the broken as a reflection of God’s redemption—how He takes what’s hard and shines His glory through it.  

I’m filled with awe as I watch God use art to work in people’s hearts around the table. The table is set but the work becomes His work. I count it a privilege to guide the process and listen to other’s stories, seeing the good come from hard situations. The opportunity to slow down, to share together, to make new and to form hope is a beautiful and sacred space. Beauty is formed from God mending our brokenness.