Shards of the Tide

There is a specific kind of silence that settles over a life when the tide goes out. We stand on the shore of our own experiences—our leadership, our families, our quietest moments—and we watch what the water leaves behind. Sometimes it’s the smooth, polished stones of delight. Other times, the truth emerges in shards of glass, jagged and bright, rising up just as the tide of grief begins to swell.

We often don’t know what to do with the glass.

For over twenty years, I have walked these shorelines in leadership and in life. I have seen how instinctively we reach for the tools of "maintenance." When a disaster strikes or a relationship fractures, our first impulse is often to tidy the room—to sweep the mess out of sight so the floor looks walkable again.

We do this with the best of intentions. We tell ourselves we are protecting the peace, or perhaps protecting others from a reality that feels too cold and hard to bear. But if we are honest, this "cleanup" is often an act of self-protection. We are trying to 'move forward' without having to carry the weight of what happened. The problem is that a quick cleanup doesn’t remove the injury; it only hides the shards.

The Turtle’s Shell and the Tape-Bound Heart

I know this impulse because I have lived it. When a rift happens, my body has a script it follows. If I had a turtle’s shell, I would conduct all of life’s business from within it.

I feel my heart begin to race. A heat rises up, dictating my emotions, yet everything inside me grows cold. It is a defiance of posture—a turning away that happens internally even while I am externally 'present.' I may be holding eye contact, but I am secretly counting down the seconds until the encounter ends. Whether the catalyst is disappointment, anger, sadness, or fear, the result is the same: I hold the other at arm’s length.

I used to think this was because I was far too fragile. I lived through seasons where I felt like my heart was held together by nothing more than cheap transparent tape. Did that season reprogram me? Maybe. Likely. It taught me to prioritize the band-aid because the wound felt too deep to touch. But that is not the end of the story.

The End of Pretense

We stay silent because we’ve become masters at being dismissive of the mess. But that’s no life for us. In The Message translation of Ephesians, we find a starker, more caring directive:

"What this adds up to, then, is this: no more lies, no more pretense. Tell your neighbor the truth. In Christ’s body we’re all connected to each other, after all. When you lie to others, you end up lying to yourself." (Ephesians 4:25 MSG)

When we retreat into our shells to hide the disaster, we aren't just protecting a reputation; we are fracturing our own identity. I often wonder if we don’t experience the miracle of physical healing simply because of our mismanagement of hearts.

The Stewardship of the Flesh

Our true purpose is to steward well the flesh, bones, character, personality, and heart that surrounds Jesus. If they are wearing flesh and have blood coursing through their body, Christ is within them. This means I am not the total sum of what I’ve done, and neither is the one I might currently see as an adversary.

We are not dining before our enemies as a show of triumph; we are learning to eat this divine meal with those who have wounded us. This is the hard, gritty work of oneness. It is the realization that if I am connected to you, I cannot pin blame on you without also looking at the shared humanity we both carry.

First Steps: Creating an Abode for Healing

Despite the "reprogramming" of my past, I know full well there is a pull within—a natural, God-fashioned posture to turn toward each other. The first step in reclaiming that posture is often a quiet one: Remember the value of the relationship before the shattering. As you recall what you once treasured and delighted in, notice what happens in your own body. Those jagged edges begin to soften. Your shoulders might finally drop. This isn't about excusing the actions that hurt; it is about dismissing the power of the injury so you can create an abode for the relationship to actually heal in.

Our lives are a mosaic of pain and delight. We must allow both to breathe. Together, we can stop the self-protective sweep, set the table, and allow the harsh reality of our lives to reform us into something that finally looks like Jesus.

A Practice for Softening

If you find yourself inside the shell today, take a moment to breathe with me. This is how we begin to govern the healing process from the inside out.

Inhale: I am more than the sum of what has happened to me. Exhale: They are more than the sum of what they have done.

Inhale: Christ is within this flesh and these bones. Exhale: I release the need to sweep the floor before I sit at the table.

Inhale: I am safe to stay proximal to the truth. Exhale: I allow the heat to dissipate and my shoulders to drop.