no words

For the first time in my life I really have no words...

just a heart bleeding prayers.

May wherever you are be saturated with Him.

flawed

I'm cutting grass as if there's some way I can cut the ache right out of my chest.

Spinning wheels below me, spinning wheels in my head.

I hear it loud, "I've been burned out, broken, torn out, torn down in ways I never knew I would. But I can feel Your fullness in my life."

I feel the searing heat threatening to spill from my eyes.

Everything I am is screaming, "Move! Do something!"

I cannot bend any lower. I'm face on the ground. Just pleading for a moment.

My soul bleeds right down my cheeks.

Who knew you could spill while attacking ditches?

Flawed.

All this shattered heart, all these broken pieces. I carry them around trying to make a life out of them.

I heard the lies whispered, "you are not enough, you're not loved, you never will be."

And I listened a little too long.

Now I'm churning. Screaming silent.

Fear slowly smothering my gasping hope.

The water runs hot. My face against the cold wall. The drops running down my arm as if they know exactly where they are going.

I splinter.

He Whispers, "You're mine. You can trust me."

I'm pleading now, "But I can't see it. And I have nothing left. And I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm not more."

He just holds. Just lets it bleed out. Cradles my shards that pierced His Hands.

I lay silent in the dark, watching the spinning above me. The silent motion going nowhere.

Then it comes, the whisper from my weary heart, "It's all Yours, make it what you want. I only want what You want. I am desperate for more of You. Less of this broken mess of me."

He Whispers,"You're mine, I keep my promises. You're amazing. You are perfect in My Heart. You are Loved."

I wonder why I fight and thrash. Refuse to believe I am enough.

I am His. His.

His Love makes me enough.

I am flawed and scarred. Broken and crawling.

And enough to be loved.

Love doesn't deny the flaws. It takes a gentle finger and traces the scars. Learns the curves of your wounds. The ways you've bent and broken. 

Love picks up all those pieces and carries them. Weaving hearts together. Making the weak places strong. Making the broken whole.

Flawed.

Perfectly flawed.

And more than enough.