​16. A Hurt Little Heart

I’m a hurt little heart. I bleed and break and am ripped a little at the edges.

I let my sin replay sometimes, and other times, I take it up in two hands and hold it close against my chest. My hips rock back and forth, and I never think to give it up. It is me, and I am it.

But that’s never the truth in the slightest.

What am I without the wound inside me? What am I without the noise inside my head?

I’m free.

Christ gave us that gift. He hurt and bled and broke and ripped at the edges, so I could give up the bundle at my breast. The wound is healed. The noise, gone.

Because perspective is our reality. So what is it we’re really seeing?