Not Nice Spice
My poor husband had to endure me whipping out this tragic excuse of a cell phone for nearly nine months. It was already an old iPhone by anyone’s standard. The case I had initially purchased had been chewed on and beaten to a pulp by toddlers. It survived just fine without a protective case for ages though, even with an occasional drop here and there. Well, until this past spring when it slipped right out of my back pocket and landed face down on my in-laws bathroom floor. It was completely shattered. Yet, somehow all the pieces were still in place. Thankfully my mother in-law had packing tape handy, and I placed it over the cracks only to discover it still worked! I thought about taking it somewhere to replace the screen, but since it worked just fine, I figured why bother? And I didn’t bother. But over those nine months the volume faded when I tried to record videos. Some of the cracks grew. I freaked out when Chickadee brought me a “jewel,” aka a cracked piece of the glass had fallen out from under the tape. Thank the Lord it wasn’t swallowed! Soon enough the battery wasn’t holding a charge. There’s nothing quite like having your husband on a business trip, while you’re home with two toddlers and no phone (at least until it randomly decides it’s time to turn back on with plenty of charge). It had overheated to the point I put it in the freezer for an hour and it was still hot (and then it was randomly fine for weeks).
After each little occurrence I would seriously consider replacing my phone. There was no reason I couldn’t get a new one and Stud kept trying to make me. But in my mind it worked well enough. I was attached to what was familiar. I had it for ages and there were so many numbers, texts, saved pages and notes. I liked the comfort of this petite little broken phone. I had no idea how broken my phone was though, until I purchased a new one. What I had worked, but it was barely functioning. The new phone is clearly an upgrade—the latest iPhone model with features I know nothing about, and so much memory I could go ages without deleting a photo. My kids are going to have childhood videos—ha! I now have space to put actual apps on my phone! So, yes, I’m 32 and only just got Instagram. I’m definitely kicking myself for not changing sooner. Hindsight is always 20/20. But why couldn’t I see what my husband saw? What friends and family saw? It was so clear to everyone around me, but I just shrugged it off. Brokenness happens to us like that. We are too blind, or stubborn, or distracted; busy enduring unnecessarily; struggling and missing moments we never knew we wouldn’t get back. The best part about knowing you’re broken is being made whole; discovering that not only is there better for you, but it’s available at any moment you want to reach for it. You don’t have to struggle and strive for it. It’s there. Waiting for you. When you’re ready. However long that may be.
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Kate FrancesWhen you don't know what else to do, then it's time to write. Then write a little while longer for good measure. Archives
February 2020
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