I am 11. Mother’s latest craft phase resulted in box after box of creepy dolls. A table full of painted, beady eyes stare at the passers-by as they weave through the craft fair labyrinth. Mother’s dolls smell like glue, yarn, cheapness, and desperation. They stand there in stiffened cotton dresses, all sad and homely. I am embarrassed to be behind the table. I wonder if I can wiggle my nose like Samantha on the show Bewitched and be at home, away from this nightmare of a day.

When did you last go to a craft fair? Personally, I avoid them. My day with Mother all those years ago created in me a general aversion to craft fairs. Would I like a homemade one of these or a handcrafted one of those? Typically, the answer is no, with rare exceptions. I prefer to go to the store and buy all those things made poorly by a machine in a factory. I guess I prefer the smell of cardboard, plastic, and disinterest.

Really, I am not a horrible person. Please don’t hate me if you are a crafter. I enjoy making things too. And, the adventure of a craft fair can provide hours of cheap entertainment. One needs only an open mind and an appreciation for the unique. I do own craft fair variety handmade jewelry that I love and wear often. My favorite scarves are handmade, and I also own handmade dish scrubbers that are the cat’s meow. I am not completely a lost cause.

Apart from my stated hesitations, craft fairs do hold a particular allure. They are a goldmine for people-watchers like me. Something about the interaction of people connecting with things draws my attention. Rows upon rows of buttons, baubles, jewels, fabric, wire, metal, wood, and seemingly endless options draw an eclectic crowd. I love that part of the experience.

This weekend that eclectic crowd and their fascination with crafted items came to mind. Thoughts of humanity with all of our hang-ups and brokenness swirled in my head. I sat, staring into the woods at a retreat center in Virginia. Our church ladies escaped to the woods for a weekend of fellowship and seeking God. In the session just prior to my silent contemplation, I was challenged to consider my own uniqueness.

In case the fact has eluded you, perfection is a myth. We come screaming into the world with issues. Our environments and experiences then craft us into truly unique beings. Instead of celebrating our uniqueness, we are prone to believe our imperfections decrease our value. The lies we believe about ourselves weigh us down. Before we know it, we are bent over, our eyes downcast, and our spirits diminished.

As a young Christian, I hitched my proverbial wagon to the notion of being a “good girl”. I did not deviate from my good-girl ways. I pursued perfection with every fiber of my being. I do believe the pursuit saved me from all kinds of things. It did not, however, protect me from the inevitable brokenness that accompanies life as a human being. In spite of my epic good girl efforts, life still hurt.

I am much older now and understand the futility of my prior way of thinking.  Some of our hurts are borne from our own poor choices, and others are the result of things outside our control. Regardless of the source, the narrative of our lives grows with each new day.  The questions become: How do we keep from crumbling under the weight of all the hurts we carry? Do we see our uniqueness as a stumbling block or a stepping stone to connecting with others?

As I sat and stared at the woods, I asked myself these questions and others. Two answers came to mind. First, we have been redeemed by Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross. Whether or not what weighs us down is of our own doing or someone else’s, we can hand it all off to Jesus to carry for us. Second, that brokenness and burden we work so hard to hide is often the very thing God uses to model His redemptive power to those around us who are also hurting.

“Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take up my yoke and learn from me, because I am lowly and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Matthew 11:28-30

Every last one of us holds a story. Every story has value, just like all the handmade items at all the craft fairs. The magic happens when we make connections. Mother’s creepy dolls did nothing for me. You should have seen, though, the ladies that stopped and fawned all over them. They declared them darling and paid Mother actual money for them. They connected.  Relationships with people happen that way too.

Life is like a giant craft fair – loaded with unique people, situations, and circumstances. I may feel diminished and without value, but I guarantee there is someone or many, even, that will benefit from hearing my story. I can say for certain that I want to hear yours. I want to show you God’s redemptive art in my life, and see all the redemption on display at God’s craft fair in the lives of others.

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

    your works are wonderful,

    I know that full well.“

Psalm 139:14