invisible

It burns, deep down in my core. This heat that I've spent years icing down.

Hot iron from the fire branding me. Labeling my broken heart.

Invisible.

All this time, all these years, unseen.

Broken down with words. Twisted, mangled, discarded heart.

Left to live alone. Rejected, dismissed.

All those moments I walked through in blindness. Excusing, striving, defending.

And by necessity, killing my own heart.


The heat burns like acid disfiguring my heart. Seeping through the cracks of shattered dreams.

Memories flood in at a relentless pace. Filling the seconds, minutes, hours.

Yet the view is always different. Where once I looked with filtered view, now I see the whole scene.

The lonely woman doing. Her hands locked tight holding it all together. Her heart clenched in fear and agony.

For if just for a second she lets go, it will all unravel. And these dreams. This life. The one they promised will crash to the floor and splinter into a thousand pieces.

So she begs, pleads. Strives. Demands. Loves. Prays.

Gives everything she has. Every last drop...

Until she runs dry.

Parched and barren her heart whispers, "no more".

There is no more.

No more carrying the weight of it all, while wading through his anger.

No more lies. No more twisted words. Manipulated heart. No more dying dreams.

The moment comes, when she begs one last time, "won't you fight?"

And in rejection pours her suffocating pain into Lamenting. The heart letting go...

The strands unraveling, breaking free.

And again she is there in the mirror. Her eyes full of Life.


My eyes.

No more.

No more will I make excuses. No more will I cover the anguish. No more will I absorb the pain.

I'm going to live.

Visible.


Seen.

whole

I am weary.

Raw.

Forgotten.

All this living. This giving. Pouring out. Has left me weary.

There are lines of darkness curved gently across my face.

The evidence of little bodies grown, made, written across my belly. I am a canvas of motherhood.

A portrait with colors faded. The strokes of beauty cracked and dry.

There is quiet here. Not only this night, but most. The silence that flows from a heart bloodied. A heart gasping for air.

And I cannot help him to breathe...

The fire burns hot, white. Seeping into everything he does. Oozing his pain. Spilling all over me, all over the littles.

And I feel like I'm fighting a fire that only Grace can put out. Soothing little hearts where embers singe and sting.

All the while fighting to remember who I am. All this letting go of me. All this doing. Striving. And I had forgotten to nurture my own strength. Forgotten who I am.

Lost the fight in me. The strength of my heart. The strength of my body. Let it go.


And I want it back. I want to feel my strength. Be healthy.


Whole.

I want to be.

Me.

The pain in me is boiling churning. A torturous ache.

I have awakened to this reality. It was me. I thought I was worth nothing more. My very own heart that whispered, "you are unlovable, you don't deserve more."

The little-girl wounds covering my whole life with their blood.

Suffocating me. Extinguishing my smile.

My smile. The one I had even forgotten I had.

I've worked and anguished. Controlled and strived. Sacrificed and loved. Poured out the last drops.

All the while letting go. Slipping under. Disappearing.

And I can never hold him responsible for that.

For it is where we place our heart that nurtures it.

And it is a constant battle. One we must never forget to fight.


The battle for our own hearts.


For if we do not fight the battle for our own hearts, we have nothing to offer. We cannot pour out what we do not Fill.

There are those who will not understand. Who will judge from a place of fear. Who will offer advice not for your Heart, but for their comfort. They will use words of "faith" born of fear. They will pour out support when it serves them. And leave you in silence when the darkness comes, and the world you are crawling through is too uncomfortable to bear it with you.

Yet, it is not to them we must cling, but to the One that has walked our excruciating journey for us. The one who lived His life on the edge. Who poured out Compassion for those whose lives were deep in suffering.

His life filled with reaching out to touch those rotting under the weight of their wounds. Heart poured out in the Hope that those who heard his words would find their Hearts. Not in rules and rituals, but in Love.

In Extravagant, Wild, Radical Love.


That is where I place my heart. On the edge of His cliff. Where the free-fall is safe. The agony softened by Joy. 


Where my brokenness is made Whole.

Freely surrendered into Sovereign Hands.

Only in Him are we whole. 


Holy.


"... how much more the blood of Christ cleans up our whole lives, inside and out. Through the Spirit, Christ offered himself as an unblemished sacrifice, freeing us from all those dead-end efforts to make ourselves respectable, so that we can live all out for God."   Hebrews 9:14-15