I was thinking last night about how earnestly hard we work to prevent the cracks from showing when really, cracks are all there is.
The Bible is full of cracked people, of course. And somehow we read it and we think we will be different–we think that with all our hindsight and modern wisdom in hand, maybe our cracks just won’t show.
A former college classmate (who I admire very much) who writes a witty blog on faith and culture recently dubbed 2013 her year of epic failure. She doesn’t want to fail, of course. I think she mostly wants to learn how not to be so afraid of it, to be controlled by fear that she might and will fail, and remain one of us–you know, one of those phony, better-than-Biblical characters.
The other afternoon I heard a minister of a growing, vibrant, multicultural church describe his job as a series of humiliations. A couple weeks ago a person I had judged as highly successful and privileged told me the secrets to her success included some epic fails along the way. And finally today I told some friends about how I used to be so chicken to try new skills in gymnastics but my twin sister was a dare devil. She fell more, but she also flew higher.
It’s telling that these people who share their failures don’t come off as flimsy, irresponsible, or incapable to me. In fact, I tend to respect them even more. I find their humility a breath of fresh air in a world where perfection is worshipped and as a result, insecurity, fear, and disbelief are often held far too dear.
It may sound cheesy, but I think another thing I relish about seeing my own cracks and those of others for what they are is that a little bit of God tends to peek through them. It shouldn’t be so surprising that God makes us both cracked and beautiful, and that God doesn’t abandon us in failure (and neither do those who truly love is), but it is.
That’s how grace always feels: brand new and fresh, even though it’s always been there. And suddenly the cracks look pretty beautiful…if you’re asking me.