A Vase - or a Story Adventure
On my mantel sits a short, stout vase, just over four inches tall and colored with a muted green-blue glaze. On this background is etched and painted a robin with a tinge of red, along with several ivy leaves, green and brown, hanging off a branch.
But this isn’t just any vase. This is a literary adventure of three stories.
One, the story of delighting in art. It’s a beautiful object I can hold in my hands and enjoy with my eyes. Two artists who had a vision and love for a book and the craft of pottery created this piece.
Two, the story of The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnet. The robin and vine play key roles in Mary Lennox discovering the door to a garden that had been locked for ten years following the accidental death of a beloved wife and mother. In a place that had been infused with death, Mary finds a magic that brings her and others renewed life.
Three, the story of the Trinity. This vase reminds me of the Triune God. God the Creator who is the potter shaping and forming us. God the Son, who as Jesus said that he is the vine and we are the branches, abide in him. And God the Spirit, who is the guide to our souls, that secret garden within.
The stories held in this physical and beautiful object help to interrupt the false stories that so easily flow through my soul. These false stories of scarcity and loneliness, of brokenness and rejection, of shame and worthlessness create a disintegrated self. However, holding this vase and reflecting on these other stories, I sense the possibility of reintegration.
Like this vase made from clay, I was created out of the material of the earth, imaged and formed by the Creator’s loving hands. Decorated with vibrant colors and images. But I’ve also been shaped by the stories of my family and community - some of them have added to the original beauty, others have marred and deformed it. Still, I can hold on to the truth that the Potter will continually shape me back into the image of his beloved daughter.
As I look at the robin and the vine, and consider the story in the novel, I reflect on the many times I’ve seen life coming from death. Flowers in a butterfly garden breaking out of the ground after a long winter. New relationships forming after old ones end. Dreams that arise from the death of past desires. I also remember the delight of my child-self reading this book and feel that expectancy rise up in me that this story will turn out well in the end.
And through the story of the Trinity, I see a grace-filled dance that re-connects the pieces of my life. The song of the robin that I hear outside of my windows and read about in the novel is like the Holy Spirit’s sweet voice that keeps calling me to a new door, a new way, a new adventure. And I’m not alone in this, Jesus stands with me and is ready to take my hand as I venture to open that door or walk along the path. And the Creator has not only formed me, but has created the good, good world in which he invites me to play and dance to a beautiful song of love.
Even now, as I look at this vase, I know that it is ready to hold the blossoms of a new story.
