The Cracked Pot.

This is my very first blog–my ‘introductory, break the ice, welcome to my imperfect life’ post, so HELLO WORLD!!!

If you are reading this, Thank You, first and foremost, but you may be wondering why I chose the image of a cracked pot to accompany my introduction.  And you may even be more interested to learn that this image was intended originally for an entirely different purpose. In fact, I was so drawn to this image that I attempted to use it as the background in my first attempt to create the homepage to this blog. However, since I had NO idea how to even create a blog, the theme I chose initially did not visually mesh with this image, so I was forced to go in a different direction. And as a disclaimer, I STILL don’t know much about creating a blog, so if you notice something out of place on this site, please pardon my mistakes, and hopefully the content of these posts will be the takeaway, lol!!

My reason for using this image is quite simple— it is because I feel that I too have been and may still be, a cracked pot.

And before I explain why, allow me to introduce myself!!! I am a 43-year-old wife to Ray, my dear, but also imperfect husband who loves and provides for our family. He is a good man with an even better heart, and just last month, we celebrated our Silver Anniversary–25 years of marriage!!  I am the proud military mother of who I consider to be THE two best accomplishments of my life—my son Jokenzie, First Class Petty Officer in the US Navy, and my daughter Reagan, a Lance Corporal in the US Marine Corps.  They, too are imperfect, but they have never given me significant trouble aside from normal growing pains, and are really great children. I consider myself honored to be called their mother.  I have a college degree, make a fairly decent living, live in a beautiful home on several acres of land, and this year, we happen to be growing a rather impressive vegetable garden.

My brothers and I were raised by our loving parents, Floyd and Faye, and I had a good and sheltered childhood. My daddy was a hard worker, who wasn’t perfect, but loved us in his own way. My mom, a Godly and loving woman, took us to church every Sunday, raised us to trust and honor God, and to love others and Jesus. I was pretty well behaved, got good grades in school, and graduated high school with honors. My parents are still with us, and are still reasonably healthy–in fact, we all are, and for that, I am truly grateful.

Now— I am well aware that not a single part of what I just shared explains my similarities to this cracked pot! In fact, it may very well seem that I have no significant issues and my life sounds pretty perfect.  However, the latter could not be further from the truth, and though it may appear that I have it all together, I do not, and that is because the majority of my cracks are not visible.

As I mentioned previously, my childhood was sheltered—I am fortunate to have been raised in a home and community where I never experienced harm or abuse of any form from anyone inside or outside of my family.  My invisible cracks began at a tender age and spread insidiously as the years progressed. The culprit was and is internal, as I am my own worst enemy. (I will explain more in upcoming blogs.)

Perhaps the multiple cracks in this pot began as one tiny, barely visible crack, but because of too much weight placed on top of it, it began to break under the extreme pressure.  This is possible, as I am certain that a great deal of my cracks were caused by not only the constant and self-imposed pressure for me to be perfect, but for everyone and everything around me to also be perfect.

Perhaps the cracks developed because the pot was damaged in harsh conditions— blown over as it was unable to withstand the harsh winds during a powerful storm. I, too can recall storm winds that have blown through my life and left me with several cracks—and in some of instances, I had been repeatedly warned that storms were brewing, but instead of heeding such warnings, I was grossly unprepared for the destruction that accompanied these storms once they arrived.

And lastly, perhaps this pot has cracks because the soil it housed was molded, which in turn, caused it to mold and weakened its walls. In my life, I can recall times where I held on to anger, unforgiveness and resentment towards myself and others, which weakened and cracked my own walls.

Though the cracks in this pot are apparent and are what I initially felt connected to, what is now evident to me is the fact that though this pot bears flaws, it is not beyond repair.  Although there are many breaks, this pot is not in shattered beyond recognition, nor seemingly missing any pieces. In fact, all it needs is a bonding agent strong enough to seal what is cracked, and it will be just as useful as before.

It is now more clear than ever—I am still a cracked pot.

I do hope that you now understand why I chose this cracked pot to aid in my introduction, and more importantly, if you too realize that you have cracks, visible or not, I want to convey that you are of no less value.

We are ALL imperfect, and are perfectly flawed, and that is quite alright, actually.

Be blessed everyone, and thank you for visiting. I look forward to sharing with you more.