there was this time, late in the fall last year, when i got a real foot to the chest over some decisions i’d made.
i was literally standing over this cracked-up heart and i felt like i was bleeding.
and i remember sitting at my typewriter and just…trying to write what i was seeing in my head. trying to describe the scene i felt was playing out. trying to capture the desperation.
this is what i wrote,
“i slowly raise my hands, shot through with glass. thin, sharp slivers. i tried to fix it on my own. i tried to put the pieces back together, but i stood over a broken heart and couldn’t stand all the red.
so i just started crying over it.
you came in and started pouring your blood over mine. you showed me your hands, full of wood chips and two heavy nails. i showed you mine fresh with scars and glass cuts.
and we both just sat there sobbing. because you love me that much and i don’t love myself enough.”
the wood chips and the nails, that sacrifice to show me that He loved me that much.
He took that all on. and had to walk through those terrifying emotions, those last hours in the garden. be mocked, accused and spit at. beaten and nailed between criminals on a hill.
so that we would be spared. so that this broken heart would be spared.
to think of the God who made that sacrifice then kneeling beside me, intimately stitching the pieces back together, i cry. every time.
i couldn’t be without Him. i would fall apart.