Our weekly missionary preparation day had once again arrived, and the laundry awaited. This week bed sheets would be included, which signaled an opportunity to accomplish our bi-monthly turn of the mattress. Working as a team, my wife and I stood the queen mattress on edge then pivoted it end-for-end and began lowering it into place.

“CRASH!”

Although this routine had been repeated several times in the past without mishap, this time was different. Somehow, through carelessness or misjudgment on my part, a corner of the mattress caught the lampshade of the kiln dried clay lamp sitting on the nightstand, and sent it flying into the wall and on to the floor.

After lowering the mattress into place, we surveyed the damage.

The lamp was broken into five main pieces, with several smaller chips littering the carpet.

My first reaction was disappointment — disappointment that I had not been more aware and careful, and disappointment that the lamp was so easily broken. After all, aren't these pieces of furniture supposed to be able to take a little abuse without falling apart?

Immediately thereafter I felt a growing sense of contrition. This lamp was one of a pair that we had recently purchased when moving into our new missionary apartment and held some sentimental value. My guilt was not made easier as I glanced over at its twin, which stood securely in place on the nightstand on my wife's side of the bed. It seemed to be saying to me, “How could you have done this to me? Now you've ruined a perfect match and taken away the light of my life”.

Even so, as I returned my gaze to the broken lamp I was moved to the conclusion that it was indeed beyond repair and would need to be thrown out. This, of course, would mean that the good lamp would likely be given away or stored in order to make room for another matching pair.

At that moment, as I knelt surveying the scene, my wife, who is usually inclined to take the high road, said, looking over my shoulder,

“You know, I think we can put this thing back together.”

“I don't know,” I replied. “Look at all of these pieces! How would we ever get it back to its original condition?”

Her response was irrefutable and yet nonjudgmental, especially as regarding the carelessness of her husband.

“Don't you think with a little patience, creativity, and some paint and strong glue that it can be restored? Come on — let's at least give it a try.”

What could I say?

After spending some time and money in the neighborhood craft and hardware stores, we returned home with the materials needed for a complete restoration.

At some point — and how it came to pass I am unable to unravel — it was decided that I would assume responsibility for restoring the piece and at the same time, as I suppose, give me an opportunity to assuage my guilt and complete the steps of my repentance.

Right from the beginning, the task proved demanding. It was a challenge just to move the lamp from the bedroom into the living room, where the rescue would play out. Some of the pieces were not quite broken free of the larger parts, and I thought how it would be to our advantage (the lamp's and mine — I had begun to look at this rebuilding as team effort into which we both must contribute our best efforts) not to have those pieces become completely disengaged. A careful study of the situation provided the answer, and I was able to convey the lamp to the desired location without further dismantling.

Several minutes were given to evaluating the proper starting point. Figuring out how all of the pieces fit together and then determining which pieces should be joined with glue first, and then how to keep those pieces tightly joined while the adhesive dried, was not immediately apparent. In a sense, it was a like solving a mystery and a puzzle all wrapped into one.

As the process unfolded, it became clear that patience would be a necessary virtue. Each newly glued section required a couple of hours to dry, and even then there was no guarantee that the work would turn out as envisioned and might consequently require a resetting of the parts. A full day was needed to complete this beginning stage of reconstruction and although it wasn't pretty, with the glue oozing out and gaping holes showing here and there where the glue couldn't fill, there was now good reason to believe that the lamp could be made to shine again.

The next steps in the mending process called for a careful scraping off of the runs of hardened glue and a filling in of the broken seams and holes with a spackling compound. When the compound dried, it was sanded and made smooth. However, as most people know, when spackling dries it also shrinks and leaves a depression. Therefore, this process of filling, drying, and sanding had to be repeated several times before the lamp was at last ready for the final phase.

The paint we had purchased was of excellent quality and covered beautifully. There were two colors; desert sand and aqua green. They came fairly close to the original hues but gave the revitalized lamp a look of improved newness and beauty. There were several designs etched into the clay, which gave the lamp base its unique personality. The new coats of paint enhanced these attractive configurations and augmented the lamp-maker's original work.

The Miracle

Although each stage of improvement had brought a certain sense of accomplishment, there was nothing quite as satisfying as beholding the finished product. Indeed, in our minds, a small miracle had been accomplished. Through persistence, patience and loving attention a light that was to be extinguished was restored and revitalized.

The aftereffect was a rekindling of the purpose for which the lamp was created — to let its light shine so as to drive away the darkness and illuminate the way for all who would see.

An unexpected final result occurred as we set the lamp on the nightstand and then backed off to admire our work; the companion lamp on the other nightstand was made to look older and less appealing. Something was definitely lacking. Once again, as if on cue my sweetheart provided the apodictic closure:

“Hon, do you see how the mended lamp now wants to share its new look with its twin? Don't you think it needs and deserves the same kind of refreshment and restoration?”

Well … what could I say?

The story of the lamp can be applied to ourselves. We, as followers of Christ, have been called the “light of the world.” But our lamps are fragile; they can be broken. Thankfully, our own experience showed me that broken lamps can be fixed. Here are twelve observations, based on the allegory of the broken lamp:

We believe in and attest to the miracle of the mending. Our mission experience has provided us with multiple opportunities to witness this process take place in the lives of many who have chosen to respond to the scriptural invitation to be “fellow citizens with the saints and of the household of God.”