adjust (verb) - to alter or move something slightly in order to achieve the desired fit, appearance, or result.

I got a postcard today from one of the most wonderful  people you could ever know, and now I can’t decide what to do with it. First, I stuck it on the wall by Eric’s desktop, but when I went into the kitchen to make lunch, I couldn’t see it anymore. I moved it to the refrigerator, and that worked until I sat down on the couch: from there, all I could see were cupboards. So then I tried moving it to the table next to the bed, which is right across from the couch, and that was great… except that the postcard was so tired from its long journey across half of the U.S. that it just kept sliding down flat on the tabletop, and no amount of delicate positioning by me was going to make it stay up. (Here is the postcard, btw… it's Lake Michigan!)

I’m worried that this all makes me sound like a lunatic, and I promise you I am not. The walls of this hotel are just very dull, and the picture on the front of the postcard is a spot of brilliant color and memory for this room. And believe me, this place needs it: all it has is shallow finery and empty décor.  

Well… wait.

It’s not completely fair for me to say that.

There is a small, well-loved pink stuffed dog on one of the pillows on the bed. That’s good.

There are some daisies (picked from a garden somewhere on the campus of Albany-SUNY) sitting in a glass on the counter. Also good, despite the somewhat questionable mode of their arrival.

There are some speakers on a desk, and a subwoofer under it. Good, again.

 Not empty. Full. Not shallow. Deep.

Full, because they are pieces of our life, and we are living it to the best of the flimsy knowledge and shaky ability of a new adam and eve. And deep, because there is much more to them than a curious housekeeper would ever guess.

Behind the pink dog is family, tradition, and laughter. The glass holds, not only daisies, but also thoughts of twenty-one summers. The speakers don't just play music, they play memories.

And my little postcard? It’s hope. It is something to remind me to look at the pieces of my life the way God looked at the world when it was new.

Some things are empty. Some things are shallow.

But some things are good, too.

Beauty in the Broken-  ness Keep the pieces. Treasure them  when the sun catches untarnished spots, when the sun sparkles them. Live them- they are yours, they are shaped by Light- their edges keen and earnest, their corners cracked by Love.