The Beautiful Vase

 I would say in August of 2002 my life was likened to a beautiful vase. It was perfect. It was so perfect in fact, it almost seemed unreal. Not a spot. Not a blemish. Not a crack.

 I was so proud of my little vase. I loved it more than I could even express. I cherished it. I was so proud of it. I felt so blessed to have it. It was MINE.. and I couldn't even imagine what I had done to deserve such an amazing vase.

I remember thinking of those who had had my vase before me. I remember feeling badly that they had lost it. How lucky was I to be the one to have it!!

 Two years in, my vase was missing. I begged for its return. On my hands and knees.. crying, screaming, pleading. After sometime, it did come back to me only, it wasn't perfect anymore.

It was cracked. Flawed. 

Over time, the cracks became bigger and bigger and soon, there where holes. 

It was getting uglier and uglier but, I still loved my vase. I mean, it was MY vase. And, I remembered how perfect and flawless it was. I missed the beautiful masterpiece it once was, I didn't  know where the missing pieces were or, why they were missing. I only knew they were gone. I wanted them back but had no idea how. 

Then, one day, I found out why. I found out that the pieces had been given to someone else. That someone else had pieces of MY vase. My vase, the one I thought was so perfect. The vase that I felt unworthy to own,  Pieces of it, in the pockets of someone else.

My world, it went silent. Nothing felt real. I knew that things were happening around me and yet, I couldn't comprehend. Then, it happened. I dropped my vase. I dropped it to the floor and it shattered into a billion pieces. 

For several years, It laid there on the floor. Right where I dropped it. From time to time I would pick  pieces it up and try and repair it but, my heart wasn't in it.

 My vase was no longer beautiful, flawless, or perfect. I no longer felt blessed to have it. Looking at the broken pieces made me feel like a failure, I was ashamed of where  my vase ended up and, that shame was depressing. 

I wanted my vase fixed. I wanted it perfect and beautiful again but, I didn't want to work to do it. I felt like I hadn't broken it in the first place. I loved my vase, I didn't ask for it to be a pile of glass on the floor! I am not saying that this was the right way to feel/act. But, the honest truth is, that is how I felt. I was sure that all I should have to do is sit there and watch as it was repaired. And maybe eat bon-bons  :) 

Sadly, I was expecting my vase to be repaired by the very one that didn't love it enough to protect it in the first place. It wasn't loved and adored as much as I had. It wasn't valued and respected. Who after making bad choices to break it, didn't want to mend it. Didn't see the need. Didn't think they were at fault. In fact, it was MY fault the pieces were in the pockets of someone else. My actions caused this. There was no remorse for the broken pile on the ground. There was only blame, shame and guilt. 

And so. after some time of fake repairs and laying on the floor, it was swept up and thrown in the trash.

At first, I was happy. Relieved that I didn't have to look at the pile of beautiful glass that once was my vase. 

Then, panic set it. I WANT MY VASE. I missed my perfect vase and I was sure I could get it back. I was sure a huge vat of glue and a little elbow grease, my vase would be beautiful and whole again. We could repair all the damage, fill in the holes and, be perfect, flawless and blessed.

I often sat there with the broken pieces in my hands. Begging, pleading for repair. Crying, offering the moon , all for the promise of a little glue. A little hope that my vase would be mine again. 

In the end though, all that I was left with was false  hope.  I was left with bloody hands from the broken pieces and shattered hope. 

And, one day, just like "that". I looked at my bloody hands. And I just grew tired. I grew tired of waiting for my vase to be perfect again. I wondered why I was waiting for the repair of this destroyed vase that has only brought me more pain than I could even comprehend. 

I mean, if my vase was SO perfect, it would have been indestructible. It wouldn't have been able to be cracked. It wouldn't have become flawed. Pieces never would have been given away.

And so, I decided, I don't want my old ugly vase. I don't want vase that WAS perfect, I want a vase that IS perfect. 

Perfect doesn't mean that problems won't come. Perfect doesn't mean that there will never be little blemishes or spots Perfect means, that if they do come, repair will happen immediately in order to prevent shatter. 

And so....