The Broken Bowl

In my growing up days our mother collected Blue Bubble dish-ware, depression glass made by Anchor Hocking, between the 1940’s into the 1960’s. They were our every day dishes, bowls, and glasses, and when newer dishes crowded the cupboard, Mother donated the beloved bubble set, keeping a few special pieces. One piece lasted all these years, a low-sided serving bowl that was kept for use at the family place in the mountains. That is, until a few days ago, when modern technology burst the bubbles.

Glass is supposed to be microwaveable, right? Silly me . . . spaghetti squash and sauce straight from the frig to the microwave is not a good idea when reheating in vintage bubble ware. Not noticeable until near the finish of my meal, a crack nearly circumventing the whole bowl became visible. My heart sank a little. Memories tied to the past bubbled up with every use of that bowl. Its time of demise had now come.

The bowl sat in a plastic bag for a day or two, awaiting trash day, and safe disposal. It gave me time to reflect on those days of long ago, when times seemed less fraught with global unrest. When family stood cohesively against the things that were set to tear it down. There was never a question of love and solidarity in our family. Even through disagreements we were always committed to one another, without a doubt. So different from today’s world, and the forces that are ripping at families, relationships, and beliefs. I am deeply saddened by the reality of it all, yet know I must “look far down the road,” as Mother used to say. “This, too, shall pass.”

When trash day arrived, the thought to take a picture of the broken bowl revealed that the crack actually only encircled about three-fourths the way around. In an odd sort of way this brought a smile to my soul. I daily pray for adult children and grands, some of whom have in ways divided themselves from the family. Although the foundation of love is always there, there is a crack that wants to divide. Interestingly, though this bowl was definitely cracked, it still held firmly together. I was happy to see that indeed there was still a strong unbroken part.

Just a little bit of encouragement visualized in a cracked vintage bowl from my past. Surely, all is not lost, even when the fracture seems irreparable and long. Through abiding in God’s love all things are possible. I’ve heard it said, “God starts with the impossible!”