“A broken soul is not the absence of beauty, but a cracked and torn soul reeks of the sweet incense it contains.”

― C. JoyBell C.

I love that quote.  It’s almost like you have to be broken to see what you are made of.

This last week I watched my son be broken again.  I didn’t plan on it happening.  It wasn’t on my calendar of events or to do list, but it happened.

It started out with a visit for some services.  I try not to discuss my children’s diagnosis in front of them. Especially Marvin.  Not because I go out of my way to hide them, but when you have anxiety issues you have to be careful on how they are revealed and unfolded before them.  So I made a list with all of his current diagnoses.  The list grows and grows.  Sigh.

So we went in and sat down, I gave my nice polite speech about how I don’t talk about all these things and handed the woman the list.  Marvin plays happily.  But soon the play stops.  The woman reads the list aloud.  She insists that we do it this way.  Did you ever watch a piece of your child die in front of you?  We made it through the appointment and into the car.  My normally happy bubbly son was quiet.  He looked out the window and the tears streamed down his face.

“Son?  Are you OK?  Do you want to talk to mama about it?”

“Why, mama, why me?  Why did God put me together this way?”

I managed to hold it together until we got home and then I cried for the rest of the afternoon.

The next day as we sit in another office the topic turns to Marvin’s biological family and the abuse he went through.  He is still trying to process this.  He still thinks that he somehow deserves the abuse that happened to him.   He doesn’t understand that his biological family was failed by a system that didn’t recognize their need for mental health support.  That even though we stopped a cycle of abuse my child will bear the scars and have his own list of mental health diagnosis.

What Marvin doesn’t see yet is that he is amazing.  He idolizes Shannon and me but I idolize him.  He is my hero.  He is proof that you can live through all of the crap that he did and get a million different labels and and still be amazing.  That you can be beautiful in your brokenness.  That a diagnosis doesn’t change what a wonderful person you are.

I hope some day that he understands that even though he was “put together this way” not by a divine hand but by broken people that he will know just how wonderful and strong he is.  But until that day comes I’ll be there.  I’ll be there to meet him where he is, comfort his aching heart, and help him make beauty from brokenness.