It’s the act of being broken that unbreaks us.
 

Because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord

and believe in your heart that God raised

him from the dead, you will be saved.

Romans 10:9

Dear Me,

I’ve wanted to speak with you for some time now, but you’ve been busy digging through your darkness. I feel it like fingertips, a soft reminder of some place I used to be but no longer know the directions to. I don’t mean to come off smug about that. My heart is broken for you. I step on the pieces, or at least used to, the soles of my feet bleeding with compassion for the me I used to know.

Have you thought about the light, yet?

Maybe not. Maybe we’re not there yet. And that’s okay. God’s timing and whatnot, and thank you God, for that.

Because if I were you, which I am, I would have wandered off into the street by now, combing the cars and dead leaves for a way out. You found one for a while in a bottle of vodka and all the words you’d never write. But then all good things must come to an end.

And all bad things too.

I’m all right although you didn’t ask. I’m living your same life now but with different components. Same soul, different temperament. Different eyes for all the seeing.

I no longer come with the bottle or unsaid words. I’m affixed with a pretty healthy understanding of the bigger picture.

And I need you to know this isn’t something I (or you) will or have ever achieved. It was given–a free gift–by the God you don’t currently know.

But one day you will. And that day will be a shut door on all the rest. You live behind it now, those pieces still broken.

But here I see them no longer lodged in flesh but repurposed for something greater. They’re a product of God’s kintsugi, melded with gold and now a something better than when your heart was intact but small.

It’s the act of being broken that unbreaks us.

It’s the act of giving back to the Giver that sets us free.

Talk soon,

Ericka