Teapots and Broken Hearts

(not my photo)

She was in a meeting at a little white country church. It was the kind of meeting where people stood up to speak out a ‘word’ that they felt God was impressing on them for someone present. Usually someone in the group would accept it as being for them. They may share what they feel God is saying to them and why it relates to them. Or they may just receive it with thanks.

At one point someone said they got a picture of a broken heart. Considering the conversations that she’d been having with God as of late she knew it was a word for her but her pride wouldn’t allow her to speak up. She said nothing. And the group carried on. 

She needed to know though why God had shown this person her broken heart. So she emailed them. The return email said that not only had they been given a picture of a jagged broken heart, they’d received another picture along with it. 

This person had been shown a teapot.

 It had been broken a couple of times before and put back together. But this time the teapot shattered so badly that it couldn’t be put back together. 

(not my photo)

 This picture resonated with her immediately because that’s exactly how she felt. But she felt angry. ‘Why God?  Why did you show this person that for me? I already know that! I know that this time I’m so shattered that I feel like I can’t do much about it!! What kind of word is that for me? It tells me nothing! I still don’t know what to do!” 

It was true. Situations in her past had caused brokenness before. But she was outgoing, she was gregarious, she made friends easily, she was gifted in ways that allowed her to easily reestablish herself. She could shake it off pretty easily and start again elsewhere. She put herself and her life back together. 

But this time, this time she didn’t feel that she had anything left. She just couldn’t do it anymore. She was too shattered. Empty. There was nothing she could do... 

Now she couldn’t shake the visual of the teapot. As she battled with God about why He’d shown this person that picture for her with no answer as to what she should do, she began to realize that this was exactly the point. There was nothing SHE could do. 

She had to surrender. 

Finally she came to see that this was a good place to be, this place of complete surrender. She had to rely completely on God to do the work. It may be impossible for her but He could work miracles. Nothing was impossible for Him. 

(not my photo)

Over the next few weeks, months, 

as the various shattered areas of her life came to mind, 

she picked them up in her hands and 

she held them up to God. 

She gave the pieces to Him. 

She didn’t have a clue about how He was going to fix the teapot. 

Was He going to restore it to its original state? 

Would He aggrandize the broken and cracked areas? 

“When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something's suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful.”    Barbara Bloom

Or might He make a mosaic of the broken pieces perhaps in the form of a stepping stone? 

She had no idea. 

But she was beginning to feel her heart restored with each piece that she lifted  up to Him…one by one…trusting that He knew best what to do with them. She became willing to wait to see what He would do. 

She started to feel some excitement and curiosity. She began to sing again. She began to feel alive.  

Today she still doesn’t know exactly what He will do with those pieces but she knows that this is where they should have been all along. Had they been in His hands the first few times of being broken they wouldn’t have shattered so easily again this time. 

It has taken a long time for her to get to this place but she can finally relax. She doesn’t have to work so hard to put the pieces back together. She knows now in her heart of hearts what she’s always believed in her head. 

It’s in His hands.  He knows what He wants to make of her. He knows how she can best be used for His glory. 

Still in awe of how God used one visual of a teapot to bring all this about, she now can rest and wait as the pieces are restored 

Life Stories are Hope Stories

I was trying to decide how to present my writing about hope when I happened upon the TV show “Tribal Trails”. A young woman, whose name I missed, was talking about how they take their life stories to the youth of reservations in Canada and the USA. She called them “Hope Stories.”

“Hope Stories” Yes! Life stories are hope stories.

When we share what we’ve gone through. When we share what we have learned. When we shared how we've survived. These are hope stories for another.

Many times we hesitate to share them because we are afraid of what someone will think. More often than not people are encouraged when we share. Things in our story may resonate with them. They no longer feel so alone. They hear something that may help them to move forward. They are encouraged.

I remember when I first went to a healing group here in my hometown. It was scary to walk in and to identify myself as one of them. But in the end it was liberating. It was freeing to hear others share their stories because I recognized myself in them. This lifted the feeling of isolation and shame. Others had been there. Others felt the same thing given the same situation. I was no longer alone.

One of the life stories that gave me the greatest hope while I was healing was Jesus’. I held on to the verse that said, “For the joy set before Him He endured the shame of the cross.” He endured shame.

There were stages of my healing that were incredibly messy. Extremely humbling…I’d probably even say humiliating. Times where there was much room to be misunderstood and I was misunderstood. I knew though that if I wanted to get well, emotionally and spiritually, I had to go ‘there’. I knew that ‘joy comes in the morning'.’ It might be dark for awhile. It might get confusing. But I had to persevere.

I held onto Jesus, my hope and my salvation. He endured the shame, a much greater shame than anything that I was experiencing, so I could too.

I also gained hope from the written stories of others who had gone through similar things as I had. I’m very glad that they shared their stories so that in hearing them mine could be ‘normalized.’ It gave me understanding and knowledge that helped me believe that I could make it through. Their stories were hope stories.

After awhile, once I was strong enough emotionally and spiritually, I began to share my story with others. To share about our deepest wounds too soon can be counterproductive so I was careful who I shared with initially. Then the audience became larger and larger. Today, the basics of my story are up on the world wide web.

The basics are on the web because I currently contract my services to a website where all of us working at this site share a bit of our story. The individuals who come to us for coaching/counselling feel hope when they see that we’ve been there. If we’ve come through it then there is the hope that they will as well. I confess that I felt quite vulnerable at the thought of having it there for all to see. But it is part of who I am. It is part of what makes me me. And if my story can give others hope then I am willing to share it where it is needed.

Occasionally, someone who feels no hope comes to me. They don’t believe that they will ever get past whatever it is that is holding them back, or that they will never heal from the depression that currently has them in it’s grip. I ask them if I can lend them my hope until they find their own. If they say yes then I share this poem with them:

BORROWED HOPE

Lend me your hope for awhile.

I seem to have mislaid mine.

Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily.

Pain and confusion are my companions.

I know not where to turn.

Looking ahead to the future times

does not bring forth images of

renewed hope.

I see mirthless times, pain

filled days,

and more tragedy.

Lend me your hope for awhile,

I seem to have mislaid mine.

Hold my hand and hug me;

listen to all my ramblings.

I need to unleash the pain and let it tumble out.

Recovery seems so far

distant;

the road to healing a long and lonely one.

Stand by me; offer me your presence.

Your ears and your love

acknowledge my pain. It is so real and ever present.

I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts.

Lend me your hope for awhile,

A time

will come when I will heal

and I will lend my renewed hope to others.

Eloise Cole

Life Stories are Hope Stories. I’m thankful for the stories that are shared in the Bible. I’m glad for those who shared their stories during my healing. Whenever appropriate and with appropriate detail I will share my Life Story to bring hope to those who are open to hearing. I hope you will too. You never know who needs to hear exactly what you have to share.

The Ambivalence of Becoming Real

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day...

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."


I use this quote from the Velveteen Rabbit time and again with the people whom I minister to. I also refer them to John Eldredge's Waking the Dead: The Glory of a Heart Fully Alive.


And I believe in this process, this pursuit, with all my heart. Heart. The Heart fully alive. Becoming and being real. It hurts. It hurts so bad sometimes because it's hard to acknowledge the harsh reality of life, to admit unmet needs, or to embrace unfulfilled longings in this fallen imperfect world. The alternative is to deny and ignore the heart through fervent activity and busy-ness, to kill it with various addictions, to pretend all is right with the world. There is a pain in both of those paths.

Ambivalence...

As author and speaker Bunny Wilson says, "In this world we will have suffering. We choose whether we suffer for Satan and reap his reward, or suffer for Christ and reap His reward." I know that most of us want the latter but the former often seems so much easier because it's a 'quick' fix and it doesn't seem to require quite as much pain...in the moment.



"A righteous person may fall seven times, but he gets up again." Proverbs 24:17

"When he falls, he will not be hurled headlong, Because the LORD is the One who holds his hand." Psalms 37:24

I'm so glad that the LORD holds our hands. I'm so thankful that because of Him we get up again. We can hardly believe that He doesn't see us as ugly when we fall. Instead He's loved us 'shabby' and is not about to let us go!!! Because of Him and IN Him we are Real.