The Day I Broke the Celebration Plate

Does your family have any special traditions? Unique, silly, big or small traditions? We do. And one of ours is the celebration plate.

When the kids were young I got a special plate I dubbed the celebration plate (here’s where I wish I could insert the new iPhone confetti and horns reaction). It was a white plate with a plethora of colorful dots dancing across it in various sizes.  It was festive, fun and looked like confetti. When you were using this whimsical plate, you truly felt like you were celebrating something.

It was the plate normally stored on the bottom of the plate pile in my cabinet. We only brought it out on special occasions when someone in the family was celebrating something. A birthday. A personal victory. A promotion. Never a reward for a natural ability. But for perseverance or effort. Absolutely.

For example, getting second in track after getting up early for weeks to get in extra practices. That was celebration plate worthy. We used it after my youngest collected recyclables to cash in to sponsor a classmate who couldn’t afford to go on a school trip. He went to neighbors, collected and raised enough money. That deserved a celebrate plate dinner. Each polka dot shouting encouragement for a job well done.

Once, one of my oldest (now in his mid 20’s) son’s friends (Kyle, I think his name was) had a big victory and my son asked if we could invite Kyle for dinner and let him use the celebration plate. His friend had been working very hard to improve his grades and had even had perfect attendance at school. My son thought that was worthy of a celebration plate dinner. Well, Kyle’s family didn’t have a celebration plate so my son wanted to know if we could do it.  We ordered pizza and had a celebration plate dinner for Kyle that Friday. Our first ever and only non-family celebration plate member. I wonder sometimes, if Kyle remembers the celebration plate dinner. I do. That was the day that I realized the importance of the celebration plate to the kids.

I recently broke the celebration plate.

My heart just sank a little typing those words.

It slipped out of my hands and in slow motion I saw it fall, hit the ground, and shatter into innumerable pieces.

It was a surreal moment. I knew the moment it slipped from my hands that it would break. I stood there, scattered pieces all over my kitchen floor, including my feet. Frozen still and unable to process what had just happened. I want to say I had flashes of memories as the celebration plate fell in slo-mo. I did not. Instead, I stood there motionless for what seemed like 10 minutes. In actuality, I am sure that is was probably only 10 seconds.

I carefully collected the large pieces and swept up the smaller ones. I lovingly put them in the trash.

Then I sat down with a cup of tea and cried.

Yes, I cried over a broken plate.

A plate that was like a family member and had become the holder of some very precious memories. As I cried, I laughed at myself a little, but mostly I just allowed myself to cry and grieve.

I texted the hubby a couple hours later and said, “I accidentally broke the celebration plate today.”

His response was perfect and it exemplified exactly what kind of supportive man he is. He let me know that he knew the significance of our polka dotted plate when he responded, ” Are you OK? Do you want to talk?”

I texted him back with, ” I will be. I am not ready yet”

That evening the hubby showed up with flowers and knowing that I would need time to grieve, said, “Let me know when you are ready to get a new celebration plate. We can make an event of it.”

I had never considered the loss of our celebration plate. I assumed that it would always be with our family. I was wrong. I regret that I do not have any pictures of the celebration plate, not even the broken pieces. Why did I not take pictures? I wish that I had.

Sometimes Things Shatter

When the celebration plate shattered, the pieces could not be put back together. The plate would never be the same and our tradition wouldn’t either. Life can be like this, too. Sometimes our lives shatter into what feels like a million pieces and as we stare at the broken pieces around us, we know things will never be the same.

Have you been there? I have.

Many years ago, when going through a divorce, I felt like life was a mess of shattered pieces (some big and some small). Nothing was as I imagined it to be. But, I learned that just because life wouldn’t be the same didn’t mean it couldn’t be better. A loss now didn’t mean I couldn’t eventually have a gain. After my divorce, I had to allow myself time to grieve and then move on with my new normal.

When you also experience a change, loss, shattered memories, look for your new normal and look for the lesson/gift in the experience. It isn’t easy, but you have to keep walking forward. Sweep up the broken pieces, grieve, and embrace the opportunity to begin something new. Psalm 119:15 reminds us, “Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light for my path.” Much like the Psalmist declares, it is important to keep taking steps forward. Keep walking the new path lit for you.

Embrace the People Who Show You Jesus

When you’re world feels like it shatters, when you’re grieving, and when you’re walking toward your new norm, look for those that show you Jesus.

There are people in our lives who act as the tangible hands and feet of Jesus to us. Look for those people and embrace them.

When I broke the celebration plate and mourned its loss, my sweet husband showed me Jesus. How? He cared about the little things I cared about.

You see, Jesus cared about the small, the little, the insignificant things that no one else cared about.

He sought out a short, little tax collector who’d climbed in a tree. Jesus told the little children to come near. He touched the untouchable and diseased and elevated women in a culture that did not. He wept (the shortest verse in the bible) when a sister lost her brother. He cared about the things and the people others did not.

My Joel did that for me.

I realize most people don’t care about our broken plate. But I do. And so, Joel did too. Most people wouldn’t grieve my broken plate. But I did. So Joel did too. Most people would probably even find it silly that I cried over this broken plate. But I did grieve. And Joel did not find it silly. He allowed me time to grieve and space to mourn. And when I was ready to come to him, he was there.

It has been a couple of months now and I do not know when we will get a new celebration plate. And I do not know what we will do as a substitute (if needed) until we do. But I do know I am grateful for all of the celebration plate memories. I’m also incredibly grateful for the reminder that we can pick up shattered pieces and move on and that we have people who will be Jesus to us as we do so.

Keep picking up the pieces, my friend.