I love ceramic mugs. Just love them.

And I don’t mean store bought cups with emblems or school colors. I mean mugs handmade in a little studio off the beaten path by a funky, earthy woman. Usually one with cool scarves, a nose ring and a lot of jewelry.

These are the mugs I love.

But I’ve found over the years that I can’t manage to keep these mugs from breaking for the life of me. We have many regular store bought mugs in the house…at least a dozen. And they all stay in perfect shape.

But my mugs? Well, those break within a week of their purchase. Or perhaps just a bit more if I’m lucky.

Years ago I purchased a beautiful mug from a local artisan at her shop in Alon Shvut. And before my father-in-law arrived for a visit, I purchased another so that he could enjoy his own cup of coffee (hands off MY mug!). His still stands in the house. Mine broke long ago.

A lonely mug

Then, when we were at the Zimmerbus in Azuz, just south of nowhere on the Egyptian border, we discovered a tiny one room store. It was down a dirt road…next to the donkey and with no address to speak of. One woman owns it and sits there all day, making gorgeous pottery with her wheel and her passion. She runs workshops for those who happen to stumble into this oasis and she sells her wares. I purchased one mug, and then Josh gently reminded me that maybe I should purchase a second. Hmmm…good point.

So I bought two, and proceeded to drop and break one of them within the week. The second one has been lovingly used for quite a while now (an accomplishment!) but is hanging on for dear life with a few cracks and fissures in it.

Last month, while vacationing in the Golan, we stopped by an adorable information center. The woman didn’t appear to be overflowing with much information, but there was a ceramics store in the area. So, we entered, telling the kids to put their hands behind their backs (talk about bulls in the china shop) and we set about finding a mug for me.

The kids were all excited, “What about this one?!” and “How about that one?” But with each mug they selected, someone would say, “Mommy’s just going to break that.” Or “That won’t last a week.” They all thought they were so funny.

But they were right.

I went to the section of imperfect pieces, assuming I would find something cheaper and yet still lovely. And I found the perfect mug.

What a beauty!

As I was paying for it, the kids were taking bets on how many days it would last.

So I’ve enjoyed it already for a month.

Until today.

Today, when I placed a cup in the sink and realized that I had clinked it against the half-empty mug, chipping it, all I could do was stare.

Really, I thought to myself? Today was the day?

And so the first crack appeared.

Woe is me and my mug!

And then I started to think about these mugs and my amazing ability to break them. 

Life is so much like these mugs. We have something precious, important, glittery and lovely in our possession. And we so dearly want to keep it pristine, perfect, holy.

But life has so many other plans for us.

Our new, sparkly homes have floods, paint chips, mildew; our beautiful infants develop learning disabilities, broken bones, heartache; our dreams get modified, altered, changed.

Life is full of so many moments of imperfection, of re-examination, of flexibility.

And some of them are our doing. If I had just kept the mug out of the sink, if I had just shown it a bit more care…but how often can we beat ourselves up? And how careful must we be?

And yet, through the fissures and the frustrations, the beauty still shines through. 

It may not be the beauty we expected. 

It may not be the beauty we dreamed of and envisioned.

But it is beautiful nonetheless.

And perhaps more beautiful and meaningful IN its imperfection.

Because really, that is what life is all about.

And so, ironically, while 99% of the glasses in our house remain intact, it is my favorite and most cherished mugs that I appear to be incapable of protecting no matter how much I try; and sometimes when I don’t.

And only through letting go, and allowing for those cracks (and the jokes about them) do I achieve some understanding of my life, of the way things work.

Lessons learned on the way to my morning coffee.