Imperfect Repair

On being hurt and healed in community

I have a photo of myself that was taken on March 1, 2017.

I’m sitting on a recliner. My body is barely visible because my lap is full of stuffed animals. Piles upon piles of stuffed animals. On the top of the pile are two small stuffed dogs: Henry and Peanut. Those were my youngest son Isaac's favorite stuffed animals. He was 7 at the time.

I see sad and tired eyes.

The photo is special to me because of all the things you can’t see. Isaac had seen me sobbing harder than he’d ever seen, and he wanted to make me feel better. He brought all the things that comforted him.

I still feel the aftershocks of the pain of that day. I play back what incited it, the repair that happened, and the repair I wish could happen but probably never will. I’ve been thinking a lot about how complicated it is to heal from wounds when repair should include a party who is unable to be a part of the process for one reason or another.

Mary DeMuth has said that after being hurt in community, we’re healed in community. I don’t doubt her, but what do we do when we can’t find a place to heal?

I wonder if part of the answer is holding a whole lapful of imperfect and precious offerings from the people and places who give what they can.

Imperfect and incomplete solutions count.