Skip to main content

Psalm 147:3


Weary heart so destroyed it shouldn’t beat
It seems whole until shadows change, displaying thousands of scars
All different shapes and sizes; a roadmap of past sorrow laid bare
I trace them remembering, thankful for piercing needle and suture
I am hemorrhaging again, sucking in sharp breath through pain
A pain that deceives healed wounds that time alone could not heal
I alone could not heal
It seems selfish to ask in light of what He has already given
But once again I rip out this heart that has betrayed me
With fallen earth and sordid transgressions
And once again He willingly takes my scarred heart, mangled, bleeding
Handling the damaged flesh like it means something more
With gentle hands that numb the anguish, He grafts over brokenness
The unbearable pain becomes a dull ache that continues to fade, like a scar
By grace, it beats
Linking this to imperfect prose today, because I am broken and in this Lenten season, I desire to focus on Jesus as my sole Redeemer.

Comments

Joybird said…
Raw and familiar. I too have wounds in my heart. But thanks only to my Jesus, I have some scars that used to be wounds! I am so grateful. Praying that your scars outnumber your wounds.
Brian Miller said…
viceral write...i think we all carry those scars in our own ways, yet only by His grace...
Bethany Ann said…
uh-huh. makes me think of that sara groves song that goes, "in Your hands, the pain and hurt look less like scars and more like... character."
I feel this, I too have such a hemorrhaging heart. Prayers for you!
Bev said…
this i know...
by the grace of god we are healed...
Wow, I really feel the pain in the heart in this. Ouch. May the dull fade go quickly!! (and I LOVE the photo)
emily wierenga said…
Handling the damaged flesh like it means something more

oh jadie... you do mean so much more...
i hear his heart beat in you... love to you, sister.

Popular posts from this blog

Reasons

Shortly after the New Year, I took about a three week break from Facebook, deleting the app from my phone. I felt that it was in my best interest. As a whole, it made me feel wretched about myself (or bitter, or judgmental, or a slew of other negative emotions). Not to mention the amount of time I wasted.

It was hard at first, as most habits are, to break. But, as the days went on, it became easier, and I had more time to be engaged in the present. I was looking less at my phone for the red notifications. However, there were certain things I missed, such as seeing pictures of those that live far away, or sharing in others' happy news.

So, after some time, and after I felt like I had found some balance, I decided to log back in. It was the day after the inauguration and the day of the women's march. Two of my best friends and I went together. We joined about 5,000 others in Riverside. People of differing beliefs and backgrounds came together in solidarity, each person choosing …

Sometimes....

It was Saturday. The mister was at work before dawn. I had planned to sleep in, but I woke up early. I filled  my five-cup coffee pot with water from the tap and the Christmas blend I had left over from 2012. The weather reports had been predicting a warming trend. I opened the front door. The sun was brightly shining and the fresh air was clean and crisp. I breathed it in deep. The lone glitter wreath sparkled where it was carelessly hung on the door. It was the only festive item I had out, and it happened by default as I had found it while rearranging the dining area.



Sometimes you don't see the stagnant until you touch the fresh anew.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and went outside. It was a quiet morning. The skies were bright blue with a few scattered clouds. I sat in silence on an old, weathered bench in the front yard. I closed my eyes as the heat of the sun kissed my face and warmth of the Son touched my soul. Then the sun hid behind some passing clouds, and the breeze tu…

when you are done

This will probably read more like a quick update instead of my usual posts. It's been a while. I am not entirely sure when I last wrote, or what I wrote about. Probably Grace. Or thanksgiving. And I am sure there was certainly some angst woven somewhere in there. Maybe even a curse word or two.

I can be all about the angst. Sure, there is a time and place, but it's heavy, man. I mean, it's a lot for one person to carry. All. The, Time.

I think it is inherently good to be honest about areas of necessary growth. A huge area for me {although it can be a positive thing} is my emotions. They own me. I feel things deeply. For all the things. All. The. Time. This can be problematic when I have been wounded, or when my emotions are overspent on the same scenarios.

But, with the New Year we ventured back out into the pews or chairs. Among the old and the new. Heavy with liturgy or twinkling with lights under purposely exposed ducts.

I began to feel like Edward Norton's Narrator…