Walking in the forest above the Western Area, I come across some melted lumps of old glass. Left over from the fire in 2000, I assume. Nearby are several more old shards, broken but unburned. That leads me to think about how glass is made.
Formed from silica, soda and lime, it is heated to a high temperature and can be molded and shaped easily. But once it is cold, it can no longer be worked. As a piece of glasswork goes through its lifetime, it can become cracked and chipped, even broken. And if it lays in the sunshine for a number of years, it will change color. Its sheen often becomes cloudy over time.
Settling on a nearby rock, I can’t help but think about a human’s life and how like the glass it is. We are formed by the Creator’s hand and individually shaped in our own separate way. Different ingredients (DNA) are added to each shape that make us uniquely different from all others. Our appearance, inside and out, begins to change over the years as we go through our lifetime, often suffering a crack or some breakage.
I love old glass, especially the broken and lost pieces that lay discarded. Those are the ones I pick up and save, those orphaned shards. My creator must feel the same way about me. I am loved, even in my brokenness.