Replacement is Easier

I read an article from Christianity Today the other day about how we are more prone to toss something out than repair it because it’s easier and more convenient.

Holey socks.

A chipped plate.

A torn sheet.

A relationship that isn’t working.

We have become a culture that will order a replacement on Amazon without a second thought. We’ll toss the imperfect in favor of the new, flashy, or trendy. It doesn’t cost much to buy something brand new—think of the time and energy you save when you order an alternative rather than mending it! We would rather spend money on a substitute than expend our efforts on something that may or may not need to be repaired again. How inconvenient!

Replacement is just so much easier than repairing things. 

I mean, does anyone really repair torn clothing any more? Is it worth it to sew up a hole when you could get a fresh, perfect pair of socks for under $5?

And chipped plates? Forget that nonsense. I’m going to the thrift store ASAP to find something better.

Torn sheet? No problem! I’ll order a new one on Amazon, same-day shipping! And it comes in my favourite sage-green colour? Even better!

The relationship that isn’t working is a bit trickier for me.  

Of course, I’ve had disagreements, conflicts, and struggles in friendships before, but we’ve always bounced back. We’ve always found a way to successfully resolve any misunderstandings and emerge stronger and richer than before. Even the most difficult, relationships, dry and dead as a forest-fire zone, proved salvageable over time. There were always seeds to water, buried beneath the ashes, that would take root and grow. Slowly at first, but over time, flourishing into something beautiful.

At twelve years old, I met a friend who I’ll call Laura. We were at a conference and quickly hit it off. I was shy and quiet, Laura was extroverted and lonely. We made a fun pair, always laughing, singing loudly, or going for walks together. It didn’t bother us at the time that we lived nearly two hours away. Whenever we got to see each other, we’d pick things up right where we’d left them.

Things went on this way for nearly 12 whole years. Laura and I would text each other updates periodically. We’d wish each other Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! We would volunteer at the same conference together once a year, making the most of a short weekend to catch up on allllll the things. Sometimes, she’d visit at my family home. Sometimes, I’d visit hers. It wasn’t a lot, but it felt like enough.

We had issues over this time, yes, but I couldn’t see them becoming big enough to cause irreparable fissures and cracks. I was used to long-distance relationships. I was used to low-maintenance relationships, too. All my other friendships were like cacti—they didn’t require a lot of watering to stay healthy. 

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Laura and I started drifting apart. For my part, I didn’t hold any ill will toward her, but at the time, my immediate circle took up most of my attention span. Which I believe is natural and good, but sometimes insecurity takes root in the strangest places. 

Then, a couple of years ago, Laura visited my family for a weekend. I won’t go into all the details, because neither Laura nor I agree on what happened, but the weekend did not go as planned and Laura felt hurt. She ended up leaving early without saying goodbye.

Time passed, the texts became infrequent. Then, last year, we again volunteered at the conference together and she wouldn’t speak to me. I asked her to tell me what was wrong and she told me that if I didn’t know, there was no point in explaining.

At the end of the retreat, I hugged her goodbye, but it was one-sided. She told me she didn’t want to talk to me again.

Later, I received the longest text of my life, full of scathing remarks. She told me I wasn’t good at being friends with people. She told me that I was selfish and didn’t put any effort into relationships. She told me her version of the last few year’s events.

I was hurt. I wanted to send a long text back, detailing the myriad ways her perspective was wrong. I wanted to hurt her the way she was hurting me. But I waited. And I don’t tell you this to tell you how good I am—I tell you this because it matters in terms of repairs.

Months later, I responded with a very thoughtfully worded message explaining that I didn’t agree with her take on everything but that I was very sorry she’d been so hurt. I vetted my response with some wise mentors.

And then everything fell apart.

She sent another, far angrier text than the one prior. She didn’t want to repair the relationship. It was over. I was a bad friend and that was that.

I cried. I angrily discussed the situation with Lars. I cried some more. I wasn’t used to going down without a fight, and it felt like I was on the losing end of this situation. My rage surprised me. I felt misrepresented and unjustly treated. Do you know how hard it is to see another’s perspective when you’re focusing on why they’re wrong?

However, when I took a step back to reread the texts, I realized that if she truly believed the things she was saying, of course she would perceive me as a bad friend. She wasn’t doing this specifically to hurt me, she was responding this way because she felt hurt and needed to protect herself. It felt unnecessary to me, but to her, it was a survival tactic.

It’s hard. Sometimes, it’s not possible to repair things. It also isn’t possible to replace them. I can never replace the friendship I’ve lost with Laura, because it was unique to us. I can have other friends, but this is a real, deep loss.

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In the Gospel of Matthew, Peter seems to struggle with the concept of repair also. He asks Jesus, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” 

And Jesus says to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times.”

Repair is hard. It requires sacrifice. Humility. Vulnerability. And I believe that while we may be willing to repair things, it’s not always possible. Forgiveness, and extending grace to one another is vital but it isn’t always enough. Sometimes people become unsafe and it’s in everybody’s best interest to take a step back and set good, healthy boundaries.

Sometimes repair looks like letting go. Not trying to replace it or fix things, but giving God space and time to do the holy, healing work only He can do. At this point, my relationship with Laura feels nonexistent. And she has told me that she doesn’t want anything to do with me. In this context, the best, healthiest choice, is respecting her boundaries and letting her go. 

Sometimes repair means admitting that maybe we’re not contributing to the solution and we need to back off so someone can get the help they need. I tend to try to “fix” things, to smooth over hurts, and go on as if nothing ever happened. But repair is deep, soul work that prohibits quick fixes. It is heavy. It is hard. And it can be holy, too. 

Sometimes repair means releasing the outcome and walking away, not to replace what was lost, but to sit in the sadness for awhile. Repair may not mean reconciliation, and that is something to be grieved.

God is still at work. My mum was a pivotal piece in this entire exchange with Laura, and the day after everything fell apart, she texted me that “God is still working into the future for both of you.”

Sometimes we don’t know what we need, but God does. We want to wrangle things, to repair them to our standards, to just “make it work.” But God wants to do a full restoration. That takes time, a whole lot of grace, and sometimes watering the broken ground with tears. 

God is still working into the future. That is a hope you can cling to when things are too far gone to handle. He is still working and He always finishes what He begins. The repair may not look the way we imagined or even hoped and prayed for, but it will be okay. 

Replacement is easier. We all know this from experience. But what if we became people who embraced repairs? Embraced extending grace? Embraced forgiveness? How much do you think would change?

And how much did things change for us when God sent His Son Jesus, not to replace, but to repair. To bring healing, restoration, and hope to the very ones who rejected Him?

“He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us.

As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him.

For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust.”

Psalms 103:10-14.