Broken Pieces
A reflection from the Oak & Ash Studio
Broken Pieces
A reflection from the Oak & Ash studio
Some pieces don’t come to me smooth and ready.
Every now and then, I pull a board from the stack and it stops me—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s not.
The grain runs wild.
The knots rise like old wounds.
There are stress fractures, splinters, reminders that something happened to this wood long before it ever reached my hands.
Most of the time, I set those aside for later.
But this one piece—
it wouldn’t let me.
I held it, turned it, studied it, and it felt like it was saying,
“I’ve got a story left in me. Don’t give up on me yet.”
That shouldn’t have meant anything.
It’s just wood.
But sometimes the material you’re working with mirrors something in you.
And this one did.
As I sanded the rough edges and ran my fingers along the broken grain, an old song rose up in my mind—a song my grandmother taught me when I was very young, sitting beside her in church.
“Pick up the broken pieces,
and bring them to the Lord…”
I hadn’t thought about that hymn in years. Maybe decades.
But suddenly I could hear her voice as clearly as if she were right beside me again—steady, gentle, teaching me the words long before I understood what they meant.
Back then, “broken pieces” were just lyrics.
Now the meaning hits differently.
As I worked with that board, something became clear:
Broken doesn’t mean ruined.
Broken means something happened.
Broken means survived.
Strength isn’t found in the flawless pieces.
It’s found in the ones that held together through pressure, weathering, and time.
When I build my maps, layer upon layer, I don’t try to erase the imperfections. I work with them. Around them. Through them.
Some of the strongest, most meaningful pieces in my studio are the ones that were nearly discarded.
Maybe that’s true about people too.
Maybe the places where life cracked us open are the same places where we learn resilience, compassion, and grace. Maybe what looks broken at first glance is simply still becoming.
That board hangs in my space now—not hidden, not disguised.
A quiet reminder that:
- broken is not the end of the story,
- scars don’t cancel worth,
- and some of the most meaningful pieces are the ones we almost gave up on.
- 
Just like my grandmother sang so long ago:
“Pick up the broken pieces…
and bring them to the Lord.”
Some lessons take a lifetime to understand.
If this reflection brought back a memory or a song of your own, I’d love to hear it.
