Mirror Fixer

Mirror Fixer

Theology in the Trenches

by Kathleen Kjolhaug

The hand-hewn wooden mirror sits in wait atop counter. Embedded within the frame puttied all solid like is the glass. The once solid oval is now compartmentalized into three haphazardly etched sections. Fear of shards falling is ever present, but so far, it has remained intact. Each time I pick it up, I tell myself I am going to replace the glass. But truth is, I know not where to go to get that done. I do not know where a mirror fixer lives.

There is no logic to my fear, and it is sheer lack of effort that I do not take it into town and hunt for a mirror fixer. The broken is a constant reminder of my irrational fear. These thoughts are embedded within, and they paralyze me from acting upon that which I desire for a positive change.

Lies haunt that nobody will be able to fix it, lies haunt that the cost will be too high, and if I were completely honest, the broken has now started to feel…well…shall we say, almost comfortable. It’s become a normal part of my routine to pick up the broken, and now, I sort of like it that way.

The flaws are quite obvious. I can utilize one-third of it at best and what I see reflected within looks distorted. An accurate image is not reflected. Thus, I have to make adaptations. I adapt how I hold it. I adapt carefully as to where I store it. And yet, when picked up, there is the constant obvious evidence that there is a restoration process needing to happen. These reminders come into focus each time the mirror is used.

Today, He speaks. In the stillness and the quiet, He speaks. The thought as to what He is asking of me is not clear. With a little nudge, I glance over and my peripheral vision catches the door nearby. To the left of the vanity where the broken mirror lives, there is another object which reminds. It reminds me of more broken. It reminds me of yet another promise I made to fix that which is broken.

The door, the gatekeeper to this space is hollow. I know it is hollow because embedded within is an indentation the exact same size as my foot. Serving as a reminder of the event setting off the temper tantrum of frustration well over two decades ago, the hallowed hollow door awaits fixing. The mark that remains from the outburst, now covered with duct tape and paint, serves as a reminder. Perhaps reminders are a good thing.

It’s good to be reminded of how capable I am of not only being broken, but of breaking. And because I fall short, He reminds me that He alone does not.  He reminds that He gets it. He truly gets it.

“Take and eat, My body broken for you. Do this in memory of Me.”. It was His body and blood that was shed for all the broken and for all who contribute to brokenness. I need not fix it. He has fixed it, He is fixing it, and He will continue to fix it.

“Brokenness doesn’t need shame or guilt—brokenness needs to be shared and given. Broken and given and shared with Jesus…” (Ann VosKamp, "The Broken Way").  Amen.