Resurrection 101 - Cracked Bowl

Why do I ALWAYS have to get the cracked bowl?, whined my spoiled brat as she pulled up her chair to a mouth-watering breakfast, bursting with colors, flavors and nutrients of a freshly cut fruit. The delicious bounty was served in a simple old bowl which over the years has had an encounter or two with our kitchen floor. The dinged survivor has somehow managed to keep its place on the shelf inside the kitchen cabinet, despite frequent complaints of my aesthetically-endowed children and their regular squabbles over who gets stuck with their breakfast served in the bosom of the damaged veteran.

I was about to launch into my usual sermon on the topic of ingratitude and proverbial starving children in Africa when something stopped me and instead I said,

Sometimes I feel exactly the same way...

More often than not, when I look at the bowl of my life all I see are the cracks and dings, imperfections and irritations.

My yard is infested with weeds and pests. My garage is a fire hazard. My children whine and squabble over the most insignificant things (I wonder who they got that from?!!!). And, my own mirror - covered with spots, streaks and tiny fingerprints, I must add - reflects daily the same sad story of flawed, petty, grouchy existence.

And just like my children, I remain blind to the delicious bounty waiting at my fingertips:

The rich, infinitely varied feast of God’s written Word

His divine Presence imparting meaning and significance to seemingly irrelevant streams of thoughts, words and actions

The treasured moments of communion with soul-friends, far and near, some long dead, some still living

The joyful satisfaction of a red cardinal pecking at the sunflower seeds inside the bird-feeder

The inspiring creativity spreading its arms from a Subway sandwich and my friend Valerie’s birthday cakes to Pachelbel’s Canon in D major to the heart-wrenching beauty of Starry Night… and the mystery and beauty that fills them all.

I look into my child's eyes, the dark rounds reflecting me like a mirror. But this mirror doesn't point out the spots and the streaks, the wrinkles and the freckles. This mirror goes beyond surface and reflection and reveals the unmistakable features of the One in whose image we were all created.

I bend over the counter and lean in, until my lips almost touch her ear, and I whisper a secret she needs to learn and I need to remember again and again:

It’s not really the bowl and what’s on the outside that matters. It’s what’s inside the bowl that matters most of all.

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us. 2 Corinthians 4:7