In Need of Repair

"He is before all things, and in him all things hold together." Colossians 1:17

Recently, I was watching a show on Netflix called The Repair Shop. It is a half-hour British program in which people bring beloved family heirlooms to a rural, country shop to be repaired (hence the name, pretty clever, huh?). Often the items to repair are vintage clocks, furniture and toys. Each owner gives a brief description of the item that they have brought in for repair. They explain the sentimental significance, possible monetary value and the, often obvious, level of disrepair.

On several occasions, I have seen individuals bring in beloved stuffed animals into The Repair Shop with need of mending and generally upkeep. These are typically hinged bears from the 1930s and 40s. Bears that had been well used and loved for generations and often passed from one family member to another. Pink Ted was a (pink) bear that had survived the Blitz in London during World War II, but did not survive a scuffle with the family puppy. Poor Ted had lost both an ear and arm in battle with the newest four-legged family member. Then there was a tattered, George. A bear who had been lovingly mended time and time again. Wear and tear had worn away the felt pads of his paws and feet. George was also less one eye and no longer “growled” as he had in his heyday.

To an outsider, these worn out bears would probably look like garbage. Something that wouldn't even be worth donating to a charity resale shop. They would end up in the dumpster without a second glance. Contrarily, to their owner, who had seen companionship in these organized bundles or fabric, buttons and thread, they were nearly equal to a living counterpart. They had names. They had personalities. They were loved, cuddled, played with and worn, sometimes intolerably so. And now, their value so great, they had been brought to the Repair shop to be given a new lease on life.

It's worth noting, something I love about The Repair Shop is that their intention is not to bring these items back to their new-off-the-shelf glory. The Repair Shop makes the repairs in such a way that the item’s age and history is respected and sometimes highlighted as its character. (Not entirely different from Kintsugi, see my blogpost The Boy Next Door). The imperfections, flaws and use aren’t hidden but enhanced. When Pink Ted was reunited with his loving owner, he was not the garish-pink of his youth, but the weathered pink-on-tan of an aged senior, dignity and maturity intact, along with an arm and ear replacement. (Truly the talent on this program is bar-none.)

Recently when watching a teddy restoration, I was transfixed, and a little misty-eyed, at the courage and care of one teddy owner handing over such a beloved childhood keepsake for repair. A reminder that I, too, had a stuffed sentimental friend, and I knew it would be incredibly difficult for me to hand him over to a stranger for repair, trusting that he would be returned to me in an improved condition.

I have a teddy bear (affectionately called Teddy, of course) that has been with me since childhood. He is worn and threadbare. He has both his eyes, but a reconditioned nose (made of black stitches ) and no mouth. Teddy’s legs have been reattached. His paw and foot have both been mended. He has lost some of his stuffing and both ears are precariously attached. Along his back is a cascade of black-stitches from his left shoulder blade to his left hip, in which he endured a music-box-removal surgery. Honestly, Teddy looks pretty rough. I don't think there is a person alive that would find any sort of value, emotional or otherwise in that battered bear, other than myself. However, Teddy is one of my most prized possessions. He would be the first item in my bag in case of emergency evacuation (and recently, with the Oregon Wildfires, he was).

I doubt the fact that I would ever take Teddy to the Repair Shop, though (if it were ever to come to the United States and accessible to the general public). There is something endearing and reverent about the stitches and scars, the worn away fur and the tattered ears. To repair Teddy, is to erase the trials that he has faced, to wipe away the courage and strength of each victory. I have nothing against those who want to spiff-up their bear... It’s just that my bear, my Teddy, is a one-of-a-kind. He is a uniquely individual bear.

I’ve written on my blog about other items that have sentimental value to me: the white-glass-lamp and my antique bottle collection. I know people who have possessions: a cuckoo clock, a quilt, a family Bible, that, if there were a fire, it would be the first thing they would grab to rescue. In essence, these are just “things”. They hold in them little actual value, no unique qualities that, to an objective observer, would merit anything more than a rudimentary glace. However, to the owner, their value is paramount. The item holds such significance that replacement is simply impossible.

Why do we attach emotional value to objects?

I would argue that the reason we place such emotional significance on material items is because they bring back to us a feeling or memory. Often people are unable to release childhood toys and possessions, could it be because they want to revisit the innocence of that time? People hold on to clothing items from their teen years, are they hoping they will come back into style or are they striving to reconnect to the fun, carefree days of friendship and inclusion they had in their adolescence? The opposite of this hypothesis may also be true. Have you ever rehomed something or simply threw it away because it evoked a negative memory. I know I have done this more times than I can count.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I feel like I am one of those objects brought to The Repair Shop. I am battered. I am missing parts. I am chipped and cracked and my paint is peeling. However, there isn’t a repair shop for the human soul. There isn’t a “Check-In Here” sign where you can drop off your spirit for a spit-shine and a new music box. We limp along with our flat tires and our rusty hinges and we pretend like we are “out-of-the-showroom” new. This is exhausting and it really isn’t fair. Like the teddy bears and antiques brought into The Repair Shop, our scars show our history. Our bruises show the battle we’ve faced and come out still standing. What a disservice it would be to ourselves to try to cover them with a new coat of paint or a complete overhaul.

Like I said, there isn't a repair shop that we can go to when we are in disrepair, but there is something better, someone better. We can go to the Master Craftsman himself. We can go to the one who engineered our machinery, who wrote our blue-print, who designed our cogs and wheels. We have a Creator who has a deep desire to restore us. God wants us to bring our brokenness to him and ask for his help, for his rehabilitation. And when he lovingly attends to our wounds, he lovingly reconnects us to the source of our comfort and wholeness and joy. He reconnects us to the energy source of our soul. Himself. It is a beautiful repair that will only come when we ask for it.

Psalm 147:3 tells us that God heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. I love this imagery of God as a healer and a repairman. We hear the old adage that “time heals all wounds” but I would say that is not true. I know people who carry wounds that time has not healed, wounds that have made them hard and unhappy and even sick. Time has only caused those wounds to fester and grow a callus heart. However, when God comes into a broken heart, even a callus heart, he can begin the process of healing, binding wounds like a medic on the battlefield. If we don’t seek his healing, we will continue to ache in our brokenness.

Nothing in life is perfect. Even when it’s been updated, made-over or changed. There is imperfection in everything. That imperfection is what makes it beautiful. If everything or everyone was made from the same cloth, the same cookie-cutter image, how and why would we need to navigate the world. We could just follow in the footsteps of our predecessors.

Since we all have our own unique circumstances, abilities, talents, looks, behaviors and personalities, we all get to experience the world in a new and different way. And then, we get to share those experiences with others who will take them, morph them and send them out into the world in their new and different way. How amazing is that? How incredible that we can intake, process and release our experiences in order to improve life and experiences for ourselves and others? It’s all the more reason to connect, communicate and share in a loving, accepting, and inclusive way, as much as we possibly can.

It’s never going to be perfect, this life. We are going to get our ears chewed off by the new puppy. We are going to lose our music box. Our vibrant pink color will fade, but that’s alright because when all is said and done, we get to go to the Creator in the greatest repair shop and he will restore us. He will redeem us. He will sanctify us and make us a new creation for the rest of eternity. Amen and hallelujah for that.