I sat alone in chapel that day. This was not an unusual occurrence. I had often found myself sitting alone in chapel, in the cafeteria, chilling in my dorm room. I wasn’t necessarily a loner… but I was definitely never one to run with the crowd. I always felt rejected. Unimportant.
I didn’t have fancy clothes. I didn’t look like a Barbie doll. I had my artistic abilities and that was something no one could take away from me. I had my daily routines and stuck to them. I was stuck in the humdrum of the day.
On this particular day, I was feeling sorry for myself, but I watched with great interest as the speaker–an artist!–set up for his presentation. There were beautiful sculptures set in various places on stage. There were paper t-shirts hanging from a makeshift clothesline. A pottery wheel was in the center of the stage.
The speaker introduced himself as Dr. Stephen Glaze. He was one of the professors at the college I attended. He had a lovely presentation where he spoke of his aunt who taught him to pray for people when they spotted ambulances zooming off to help an injured person. He spoke of his mother who would pray for her family as she was hanging out laundry. With each t-shirt she (hand) washed and hung, she would pray for the person to whom each t-shirt belonged. He called these rebound prayers.
He continued his presentation that seemed a bit “disconnected” as he took to the pottery wheel and began his wheel throwing. We watched as he masterfully built a beautiful pot of clay right before our very eyes. You could tell this was something he’d done hundreds if not thousands of times. Suddenly and without warning, his hands crashed into the pot causing it to crumple upon the impact.
The beautiful pot he had created was destroyed. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t remember exactly what he said and what his point was. I can only assume it was one about redemption. It was an effective illustration. After he had caused the pot to crumple and he drew some parallels, he took that crumpled piece of pottery and began his wheel throwing and “rebuilt” that beautiful clay pot.
At the end of his presentation, he told us that he was going to add another t-shirt to that clothesline. He picked up a t-shirt that reflected one of the collegiate ones you could buy in the bookstore and he told us that he was going to make a commitment to pray one of his rebound prayers for all the students in the school every time he saw someone wearing a t-shirt that reflected the college colors. I cried.
Someone–a stranger–cared enough about me to pray for me. I needed to hear this.
I ended up taking several courses that this professor taught. I considered him to be one of my greatest artistic mentors.
Me and Dr. Glaze
Five or six years ago now, he was being called away to teach at another university. My alma mater was holding an exhibit and silent auction selling several of his pieces so he didn’t have to take them with him when he moved. I walked among the pieces of the exhibit and found two that I had to have. The first one was a drawing of a woman washing clothes and hanging them out to dry. I teared up and put in the highest bid I could get away with. Thankfully, I did end up with that piece.
“Wash Day” by Dr. Stephen M. Glaze
The second piece was a small pot that appeared to be broken and cracked in several places. Again, I teared up and bought it. How could I resist?
The Broken Pot by Dr. Stephen M. Glaze
KINTSUGI
Amber, what on earth does this have to do with Inflammatory Bowel Disease? Well, I’ll tell you…
There is a technique in Japanese pottery called Kintsugi. It’s a process in which broken pottery is mended using a lacquer mixed with gold, silver or platinum. Instead of tossing out something that was broken, it is mended and treated as something with historical value. Some Japanese philosophy embraces flaws and imperfections. Japanese aesthetics value marks of wear and use of objects.
Kintsugi: The Flying Tortoise (click photo to visit website)
I would like to challenge each of you this year to change your focus when it comes to your mangled guts and surgery scars. You are not some broken or less valuable piece because of these things. In my mind these imperfections are evidences of your battle. Proof that you have (and continue to) overcome the challenges that life has thrown at you. Show off those scars and when people ask tell them about the battles you have fought. In doing this you are not only helping to break the stigma that scars are ugly and something to be covered, but you are also raising awareness and furthering the chances of finding a cure in the near future.
