The Visual8

The most interesting characters in books, films, and history are contradictions.

Death was captivated by a young girl’s resilience and her ability to find kindness in Nazi Germany (Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, 2011).

Darth Vader answered his son’s call to sense the good in himself (Star Wars VI: Return of the Jedi, 1983).

Abraham Lincoln sent soldiers to wound the Confederate, then moved to heal the nation after the war. His Gettysburg Address (1863) to consecrate the cemeterial grounds lasted less than 2 minutes. It still sparkles in the minds of Americans nearly 200 hundred years later.

And while we are compelled to the beautifully broken, we rarely find such grace for ourselves.

By “we” I actually mean “me.”

I am coming to terms with my relationship with vulnerability. It is not as vibrant as I thought.

Because vulnerability is not about closeting the ugly bits to let the good bits shine. It’s about putting the ugly bits on a pedestal in the window.

70 days ago I promised not to judge other people for 90 days.

And while not a word was spoken, there was judgement in my heart.

“For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies…” (Mathew 15:18-20, 21st Century King James Version, by Deuel Enterprises, Inc.)

It was person at the gym who exercised in front of the weight rack. It was the politician whose claims contradicted my perspective. It was the co-worker who circled a topic over and over again.

It may have even been for you, Reader.

I apologize for not taking the steps to deflate those judgments.

I cannot stand behind any excuse that thoughts ‘just came up’. That I had no agency in how they appeared.

I failed to put them to bed. I am sorry.

Crucial Conversations offers compelling advice how to break down these automatic judgments.

Study “Master My Stories.” (Crucial Conversations: Tools for Talking When Stakes are High, Third Edition, by Joseph Grenny, et. al., 2021).

It is about separating facts from stories. And it is about separating “your” emotions from “other’s” perceived intentions.

These are skills I am starting to master. However, I haven’t been so rigorous about the effort. I’ve let convenience overtake compassion.

And this is a good start on listing where I am broken.

Therefore, a part of my healing is to share this brokenness with you.

Another part of the healing is to embrace when others recognize the good bits.

These are the strengths, talents, and accomplishments.

People say that I’m a good explainer. Or that public speaking is my gift. Or that creativity just oozes out at work.

Just because they may be natural for me, they are not common for others.

I am learning how to feel proud without self-deprecation. Because doing so does not diminish the greatness of others. Those qualities benefit the community.

I suppose that is what makes me beautiful.

Yet there is more to do.

While I have left the Christian faith tradition, I do take inspiration from Jesus’ ability to see the face of God in the brutal and the grotesque.

It is a difficult undertaking. But one worth pursuing.

Until such time, I take satisfaction in being beautifully broken. Even on those days when there is more broken than beauty. And there are many such days.

My hope is that you, too, find grace for the light and the dark inside of you.

That your relationship with vulnerability opens new opportunities to give and to grow.

That you and I can start a movement where Love is the default emotion. Judgement is left in the mudroom next to the shoes. And Death is captivated by our kindness.

Author’s note: I dedicate this post to my father, Michael Louis Dina. He was one helluva Beautifully Broken man. Death took him in 2008. Those that knew him still recall his kindness.