Shards of Broken Glass

Author's note: I wrote this poem almost exactly two years ago, as a form of intercession for a dear friend who was going through some pretty intensive and often times seemingly insurmountable brokenness. I pulled it out yesterday, in preparation for a seminar I was leading on using poetry and prose as a form of prayer. Re-reading it, I was reminded of the ways that God had done and is doing exactly what I prayed in this poem... for me and in me. It was neat to see the same piece transformed into a new moment of worship, years later. Jehovah Rapha. God is my healer.

shards of broken glass,
the mirror lies shattered upon the floor.
a pale and broken fragment,
slivers of what she is meant to be.
I stoop to the floor,
hands out-stretched to rescue the
pieces of her soul.
grasping, holding, gasping,
as my hand became bloodied,
and her image, no more whole.
i fall to my knees among the pieces,
knees and hands torn, I
plead to the heavens,
GOD, I cannot mend what has broken,
I cannot heal a broken soul.
then from above
as I weep for her entirety
I hear another weeping,
as my perfect Father sobs
for his broken daughter’s
shattered soul.
and yet,
as he weeps, I see
the blood on the floor transform,
disappear
appearing on his white robes instead,
while the fragments of image
disappear
and his whole, solid, beautiful
daughter stands.
not an image, always doing,
but a fully formed daughter, being.

Lord, I cannot, but you can.
by your stripes, we are healed.