Unbreakable

"How did I survive apocalyptic fire? Truth is I didn't. I just refused to feel the flames." - Emma Frost

I can remember a distinct time in my life when I was unbreakable. I was the stoic cow whose mantra was “Can't touch this”. I was unbreakable, untouchable, hardened, and bitter.

But that's who I was.

I am not so unbreakable now.

I kinda wish I was.

Recent events in my life have led me to desire that again. That arrogant sense of superiority over the emotional females whose hormones and hearts functioned more than their heads. That feeling that no matter what the hell you do or say you cannot do anything to me. You cannot sway my beliefs. And most of all you cannot hurt me.

As I said, I kinda wish I was like that again.

After a recent spin of events, I foolishly decided to skulk back to my room, grab my cloves and remind myself who the hell I am.

I walked to the gas station to get an energy drink. All the while I inhaled aerosol cancer reminding myself that I was not those girls. That I am Shay'l Rose Hansen. That I am better, faster, and stronger than all of them. I reminded myself that I was unbreakable. That I had survived apocalyptic fire by simply refusing to feel the flames.

I reminded myself that I am the product of chaos. That at my conception there was billions upon billions of cells all competing. Cells that should probably have not been competing in the first place. I was the product of my parents anger, and spite, and jealousy. I was a result of Chaos. But out of that utter chaos, there is just me. There is only me.

I reminded myself of all that on my smoke laden path.

Finishing, my first cancer stick I retreated into the gas station to get my monster. Feeling rather good about myself I purchased my beverage and began my walk back to school.

Relishing in my first reminder that I was who I am, I dug into my pocket for my leather pack where I keep my flammables.

I stopped short.

The hard truth of the matter is this.

We are not called to be unbreakable. We are called to be broken. The creator of the universe cannot work with what is invulnerable.

My favorite verse is Matthew 5:3.

Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Most of you know that verse. It's one of the beatitudes.

Something interesting my pastor at home told me:

A beatitude is a secular term roughly equivalent to “OMG, Congratulations, I'm so jealous”

To be poor in spirit is to be completely desolate in the deepest part of yourself.

And then there is the underlying Jewish theme of it. Whenever something is broken, YHWH, God, will come in and fix it.

The kingdom of heaven can be translated into a state of being where God is in control and reigning and working.

So retranslated the verse is:

Congratulations, you have been so heart broken and utterly decimated, now God can fix you, and life can really begin.

What I've discovered through all my life experiences is that God will not work with us when we are unbreakable. He will not work with us when we are whole, and complete.

The creator of the universe does not want us to be unbreakable.

The creator of the universe wants the opposite. The creator of the universe wants our hearts to break at the sight of our brothers and sisters in pain. He wants our hearts to break when we see a homeless man on the street. He wants us to break down and weep for the all the suffering in the world.

He wants us to be completely broken.

Because than he can begin.

So I guess in a twisted sort of way, thanks. I'm not going to name drop, because it's tacky. But thank you. Thanks for being a vessel of the all mighty Creator of the universe. You know who you are.

I guess, I'll conclude with an anecdote. I was told this story a very long time ago, I don't remember who told it to me, or the context through which it was told. But I remember the story.

There's a vase maker somewhere in Asia, don't remember where exactly but he's there. And he would make these beautiful porcelain vases. Absolutely amazing vases. And then he'd paint these intricate floral patterns on them. And each vase was completely and utterly breathtaking. Then the craftsman would take the vase lift it above his head

and smash it to the ground.

Then he would take every single piece, and broken shard by broken shard put the vase back together with melted gold.


Congratulations, now he can begin.