A faith-buddy gave me a cherished gift which adorned my powder room sink for many years. It was a ceramic knickknack of the word “FAITH” written in all capitals, painted a cheery lavender and adorned with yellow and white daisies around each letter.
I was extra
klutzy one day and, not surprisingly, dropped it on the hard tile floor of the
powder room. It split cleanly into two pieces, “FAI” in one piece with the
emphatic “TH” separated from it. Broken faith still contains the components of
faith, I thought. I just needed to put it back together. One dose of hot glue
and it dried back into one piece, with only a fine line separating the ‘I’ and
the T’ evidencing the damage.
I think life is like this
sometimes. My faith gets broken and needs repair. Sometimes the repair line is
noticeable, but hopefully, most of the time, it is not.
I had been working on a submission
for “Chicken Soup for the Soul,” but had a dragging, nagging, sagging day and
felt my little roots of doubt settling in. I wondered if my ideas were
interesting, or if my writing was valuable, or if I should be writing at all. I
hadn’t experienced a hefty dose of self-doubt in, say, two or three days, so I
was due for this episode. Regardless, I managed to spend time working through
and completing the article.
The next day I planned to review,
edit and send the article to the Chicken Soup folks. A dark cloud of self-doubt
promised to accompany me each step of the way. I started my day as usual, with
my steaming cup of coffee, bible and journal. I asked God for guidance and
maybe a shot of confidence to go with it.
My doorbell rang. It was a
neighbor, handing me a brightly-wrapped red and white package, with a note
taped to the top. “This is for you,” she said. “I saw it and thought of you.”
It was a copy of Chicken Soup for
the Writer’s Soul.
repaired is still faith.