"It's ok, I like when things are broken..."

I got the estimate for the car.

100.000 miles of wear and tear on a Rav4 and much too much to spend on a teacher’s salary. These are the necessities of life and the reasons to keep a savings in tact. Anticipating a long, 10-hour drive from 77 to 81 to 76 to the familiar route100 means I want to have a car where my mechanic says, “All is well. Merry Christmas and safe travels.” The diagnosis was grim but life-saving: near-dead battery, bubble in one of my tires and brake pads in dire need of repair. And then there is the issue with the passenger’s door automatic lock. I have unfortunately gotten used to the fact that no longer do I have to shift my entire body all the way over, extending my arms out, straining my fingers to finally reach the lock on  the door opposite me. Today, I just push a convenient button and at the speed of light, every door unlocks.

So presently my lock sits stuck, silent. Nothing moves it into the unlocked position. So now I unlock it “old-school” style.

The estimate showed a high cost to fix my lock, something that in the end, works fine. My conclusion was that I would pull out some handy scotch tape, close up the panel and embrace a broken, automatic door lock. Let it be. Save money and be annoyed now and then.

One of my students was driving with me when I went into the full explanation of the lock issue. Though I am used to it, I assume it may be a pain for someone else. Her response was well worth the thing being broken. Truly.

“It’s ok; I like when things are broken actually. It’s nice when everything isn’t fixed.”

 She just sat there as if it weren’t profound. I glanced over at her and didn’t say a word, but my mind was immediately full; my heart was immediately set right.

Ashley comes from a wealthy home. She isn’t a brat, she isn’t self-absorbed, but she does live with most of her wants met. She has been born and raised in Charlotte, NC which is polished and clean and “perfect.” This is the banking capital where image is the forefront value. Cars, houses and clothes are the trappings and garland hanging around this city. Measurements for “who’s who” in the runnings-up for the American Dream are like a cancer that eat away at the meaning, joy and contentment of life. This is the world Ashley lives in. Beyond the toxic atmosphere that breathes down her neck, this young girl fights her own internal battle of perfectionism. The intensity level of her stress is unique. Headaches, stomachaches and late nights pining away for the possibility of closing the margin for “an even better grade” leave her at times lifeless. The pressure for everything to be as it should be is overwhelming. It’s like this for Ashley, but it’s like this for most kids today who genuinely care to be responsible. Some are driven by the fear of the future, the plague of competition over college acceptances...some are harassed by a ghostly slave-driver that births from their own imbalanced expectations.

Ashley is tangled in both.

Her words tell so much about what finally makes her feel freed from any measurement: broken, un-fixed things; a situation that isn’t perfect serves as a reminder that life goes on, and even well, when something is left undone. The more perfect the things are around her, the more oppressed she feels to be shiny too.When things around her are broken, the standards mist away...

I can appreciate this bondage. Those kindred friends I have who aren’t preoccupied with what they wear, what they drive, how perfectly their house is furnished or decorated...they admit when they are wrong and seem to be un-phased by my own, besetting trip-ups. They speak truth confidently while draping grace over my shoulders like a cloak. Their kids are not the center of the universe and their daily priority is not to present a perfect face to the free world...Friends who are not competitive, who speak of emptiness but seem to find their hope in heaven...people who listen well, enjoy creativity and who find mystery and joy in the differences of culture, style and giftedness. They don’t fix everything because they can’t afford to, or it just doesn’t seem to matter so much. These are the refreshing ones, who don't have one fixed template for what "successful" living is.

Things left undone can force new strength and deeper appreciation for anything at all. Ashley likes my broken lock because it takes the strain off, and reminds her to focus on the things that matter, not all the extra externals that weigh us down along the road to seeking security, love and forgiveness. It seems to me that if I spend all my time making everything perfect it is far more challenging to face the fact that I can’t get it all right all the time. I start to pretend, put on a face, lock up my failures, polish away all my stains; worst of all, I run in the opposite direction of a Savior who is here to dust me off and wash me clean. Truly clean, down to the lining of the core of my sin-scuffed self.

Ashley will find her greatest freedom in embracing her brokenness. It means not straining and striving for what is a tense tight-rope to walk. It means being “as she is,” and loved in spite of all the unkempt entanglements that criss-cross from her shoulders to her heels. It means her colors start to shine more like humility, patience, endurance, self-control and empathy. It means she starts to walk with dignity instead of pride and pomp; it means she leaves a dusting of authenticity wherever she goes.

It means she lives by a different measure altogether, that of repentance and hope, knowing that One greater than her is making all things new. That’s simply not her job.

He’ll fix her broken lock, and every other mixed up thing inside of her.