The Boy Next Door

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3

I don't remember when or where I learned about Kintsugi. I do, however, remember the poignant ache I had deep in my spirit when I really thought about the nuances of this beautiful practice. Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold or silver lacquer and then dusting it with powdered gold or silver. This is an ancient practice and it makes sense that when an ancient culture has a broken vessel, they don’t just throw it into the trash heap. They use their best effort to repair it. Pottery was not something you could just pick at at the local corner-store. It required skill, supplies and the propper technology (a kiln) to produce. A broken vessel would be valuable and repair essential and necessary. But why a repair that accentuated the brokenness?

Brandon was the proverbial boy next door. He was a few years younger than me, but we grew up playing in the sprinklers and building forts. Brandon’s family was friendly and kind. They always remembered my birthday and would occasionally bring our family tomatoes or a zucchini from their garden or freshly baked peanut butter cookies. Brandon was smart. Crazy-smart. He would read anything. He excelled in school, especially in mathematics. Brandon would take things apart and put them back together just to see how they worked. Also, Brandon was fascinated by the military. So, it was no surprise when he was accepted to West Point after high school graduation.

He attended college there and graduated with honors. He was offered Officer level military assignments once he had graduated West Point, but his heart was to be on the front lines; to be a part of the tactical solution to the problem. Eventually, he got his wish and went overseas as an American soldier. Duty, Honor, Country. Honestly, I can’t even remember which Arabian country Brandon was deployed to, but I can tell you when he was able to come home after one tour, he re-upped and went back.

Brandon came home after his second tour a different man.

Nothing could dispel the black-cloud that followed him like a plague... There was no silver-lining. There was no rainbow. There was only darkness. And anger. And pain. And fear... Brandon’s depression spiralled. He tried to adapt back into the community and routine he knew as a boy. He made attempts to find normalcy in life: an apartment with a friend, a job, outings to the movie theater and restaurants... But the blackness followed and could not be extinguished... Brandon carried demons with him that most of us can never imagine... He fought battles in his mind that were far worse than any battle he may have faced on the front-lines...

In 2002, I was visiting my parents. I had a toddler and a new-born-baby-boy. My rosy-faced infant had just fallen into a milk-induced comatose state. I was laying him down in the guest bedroom, when I glanced out the window and witnessed my parent’s neighbor, Brandon’s mom, weeping in their driveway, my mother by her side. I rushed to the front of the house and clung to our friend. I didn’t know what had happened, but I had never seen her cry before. It couldn’t be good. As I stood in the driveway of my parent’s home, my neighbor told me that Brandon had taken his own life. Young man. Brilliant mind. Beautiful heart. The all American boy next door. Gone. The darkness was too big. The pain was too heavy. The desperation was so enormous. There was only one choice he could see to alleviate the suffering. And he took it.

Call me selfish, but in that moment, I experienced a terrifying epiphany. I had a brand new baby boy. My neighbors had done the best they could raising their son. And now they were devastated in their loss. What safeguards could I take to insure that this would never be me? That I would never have to weep over the heart-break that is losing a child to suicide? None. There was nothing to prevent it. There was no guarantee. Our neighbors had been wonderful parents to their son. They had done a good job parenting. But nevertheless, their love was not big enough to overcome the darkness that is depression. Brandon was depressed. Severely. Clinically. I’m not sure what he saw overseas. I’m not sure what he experienced. His depression may even have been present before he went into the service. But whatever the combo, it was the perfect storm. Too much for one heart to hide. Too much for one person to handle on their own.

That night, after hearing of Brandon’s suicide, was the first night I opened my Bible looking for answers. If God was real, and in control, as I had believed, then how on earth did it make sense that he would allow this to happen? How on earth would he cause the pain and suffering of these beautiful people that he was supposed to love? I opened to Genesis (as a book-worm, I only knew one way to read a book--from the beginning).

I don’t know that I read the entire book of Genesis that night, but I can tell you that I read enough to learn something about God. I read enough to learn that God doesn’t do anything “just ‘cuz”. There is a plan and an order. Heaven, Earth, light, darkness, water, sky, land, plants, animals, Adam and Eve… Order. Reason. You can’t have one without the other... And then he called it all “Good”.

When I closed my Bible that day. I knew only one thing about God. God hadn’t let Brandon die for nothing. There was a purpose in Brandon’s life and there was a purpose in Brandon’s death. Brandon’s life was “good” even if it ended tragically. God doesn’t just let things happen. God doesn’t just allow the darkness to win. He uses it to reveal his light. And he makes it good. I can’t put my finger on the good that has come from Brandon’s death. I can, however, tell you that Brandon’s death has become part of my story. I have told it over and over and over again. Although, that cannot bring Brandon back, it does allow him to continue to live on. He lives in my mind and in my heart and in my story.

So, that brings us back to the beginning. Kintsugi. The broken pottery of the ancient Japanese. Why would they accentuate the broken? Why would they honor brokenness with precious metal? Why wouldn’t they use some sort of camouflage to hide the imperfection? They do this because they believe the brokenness makes the piece beautiful.

Wounds and healing make us who we are in the same way the silver and gold of Kintsugi make each broken vessel a one of a kind masterpiece.

You are not alone in your brokenness. You are a masterpiece in all your imperfections and neuroses. You are a beautiful one-of-a-kind vessel. God wants to be in those broken places. He wants to be the precious metal that binds you together and makes you whole again. He wants you to trust him with your pain, with your darkness, so he can shine his healing light in those places and make them well again. When you are put back together by the hands of the Creator, you are better than before. You are mended. You are whole. You are beautiful. Like Kintsugi, the brokenness is the beauty. Our wounds make us who we are. Our healed wounds make us beautiful!

September is Suicide prevention month. If you are feeling like there is no other option. If you are feeling like the darkness is too big for you to endure any longer. Please call the national suicide prevention hotline at 800-273-8255 because you are not alone and there is help.

*I have changed Brandon’s name in this post out of respect for his family and friends.