Decades ago I inherited an antique vase-shaped pitcher. It was made in Europe, embossed with raised intertwining geometrical shapes, and decorated with hand-painted violet and purple flowers. It also boasted a gold-painted handle. At first glance I felt it was worthy of a museum display; it appeared to be a perfect specimen of exquisite artistry. On closer inspection, however, I realized that its spout had been broken at some point and subsequently had been clumsily reattached with glue. Because of the crack in the spout, I placed the damaged pitcher on the top of a bookshelf. Although I consigned it there to collect dust, I turned it in such a way that it could be admired from below without the viewer seeing the cracked spout. Any time I admired and contemplated using my heirloom pitcher, which appeared so attractive on its high perch, I remembered the patched spout. I knew the damage would be obvious if the pitcher were set on a table. I also knew that I could never sell it for a good price, as no serious collector would want a piece that had been damaged. I would tell myself, “What a pity that it was ever broken! No one would ever wish to acquire a repaired piece of pottery.”

My perspective about damaged pottery dramatically changed, however, when I learned about kintsugi, a word that means “golden joinery.” Kintsugi refers to the centuries-old Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with a lacquer mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. This method of mending with a precious metal actually draws the viewer’s attention to the object’s one-time flaw(s): the shiny lacquer appears as an obvious and rich vein that connects fragments; the metallic lacquer makes the parts into a new, more valuable whole. Ironically the craftsman’s insertion of molten ore into a piece of pottery results in an even stronger, more attractive, and more precious objet d’art. What was broken becomes, when mended, more valuable.

Every break is unique; however, instead of repairing an item like new, kintsugi highlights the “flaws” as an integral part of the design. If we adopt this concept as a metaphor for healing ourselves, that decision can teach us a life-changing lesson: in the process of repairing (rather than replacing) things that have been broken, we can potentially create something more beautiful and resilient.

Could the art and practice of kintsugi become a metaphor for how we view our own broken, scarred, and imperfect lives? Who among us has not made a poor decision that resulted in a light scratch or even a deep wound? What if we were to view our personal flaws, our own cracks and imperfections, as opportunities to create something stronger, something more resilient and even more attractive and more valuable? What if instead of hiding our personal wounds or our cracked bones we found a means of highlighting their repairs as part of our personal work of refined art? Could kintsugi become a metaphorical repair kit for embracing our vulnerabilities and our imperfections and for finding ways to repair them so that we become something better, something improved upon, something ameliorated?

Certainly there are scriptures that refer to God making “weak things become strong” (Ether 12:27) and talks that address this topic. One sermon that mentions kintsugi specifically was delivered by Elder Ifanomezana Rasolondraibe, who wrote the following about this process of repairing by mending cracks with lacquer mixed with powdered gold: “Once completed, beautiful seams of gold become conspicuous in the repaired cracks, giving a unique appearance to each repaired piece. This unique method incorporates the vessel’s fractures—instead of hiding or disguising them. Indeed, kintsugi often makes the repaired piece appear even more beautiful than the original, giving it a new look and a second life.”

I ponder a further question: “If I were to adopt kintsugi as my philosophy of life, how would I transform the theory into practice?” In other words, how does a believing Christian embrace such a metaphor and make it into a reality? How do we turn disappointments in our actions into triumphs of our wills? If we see ourselves as “a broken vessel” (Psalms 31:12), how do we mend it in such a way that our vessel is more beautiful than when it was originally created?

The answer to that question has to do with humbling ourselves, with acknowledging our weaknesses and imperfections, and calling on a Higher Power to help us become better than we are. Actions of self-improvement are not enough; we require outside assistance if we are to transform adversity, suffering, and pain into something that refines, polishes, and makes us stronger.  

Maryssa Dennis, in “The Beauty of Broken Things,” has written: “So often we want to forget our pain, but how could we? Battles hard fought and hard won cannot and should not be forgotten. The point of adversity is to refine us—to teach us, to strengthen us, to make us better than we were before. Pain is not just an unfortunate side effect of living. It is essential to our growth.”

Dennis continues, “The Lord told Moroni, ‘Because thou hast seen thy weakness thou shalt be made strong’ (Ether 12:37). And He told the Apostle Paul, ‘My strength is made perfect in weakness’ (2 Corinthians 12:9). The Savior’s power enables us to turn our weaknesses into strengths—but only when we humble ourselves before Him. Acknowledging our weakness is the price of receiving His strength. And being first broken is the price of being made whole, or, in other words, perfect.”

For me the ultimate kintsugi repair kit is the Atonement wrought by and through Jesus Christ. After I humble myself, confessing to Him my weaknesses and forsaking poor choices and embracing good ones, I beseech His forgiveness and receive His healing. He was broken in order to repair my brokenness. When he broke bread and gave it to His disciples, He did it to signify His own preparation to be broken—in Gethsemane and on the Cross of Calvary. He went forth, “suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people” (Alma 7:11). When I accept the Atonement, my cracks are filled with something more precious than silver, gold, or platinum. They are filled with and healed by His love. That is why those who have fallen the most—for example, the woman taken in adultery whom Christ forgives or Peter after he denied the Christ—afterwards have the strongest testimony of Christ’s power to forgive, love, and heal.

Recently I spoke with a former undergraduate student who went on to receive a graduate degree from one of the most prestigious institutions of higher education in the world. He is immensely successful from a financial standpoint. What I admire most about him, however, is his testimony of how the Savior helped him overcome longstanding addictions. He speaks openly of his past addictions and how they negatively affected his daily life until he humbled himself, joined a 12-step recovery program, and turned his life over to Christ. Now he facilitates the recovery of other addicts by sharing his story of triumph. He does not sugarcoat his past mistakes, nor does he boast of what he formerly engaged in. Rather he speaks publicly of how he overcame his addictions only after he humbled himself, acknowledged his mistakes, and sought help through the Atonement. His wounds are healed, but the resulting scars are not hidden. He uses them to teach others, to give current addicts hope of recovery. He exemplifies what the art of kintsugi can accomplish.

I invite my readers to reflect on how kintsugi as a philosophy might help them to see personal flaws in a new light.