Nail Scarred hands /after a marriage ends

I begin to dance around a trust issue with God. I am running in bare feet from anything remotely church, sliding in and out of walking a crooked mile with my weapons drawn. I am no longer trying to wear the white veil of Christ’s purity, if I’m going to be hurt it will be on my terms. I pick men who don’t want to ride any deeper than my body and I use them for a moment to change my pain. I take the hammer and I drive the nails into my own soul and I bleed.I still go through the motions of life. I water plants and I feed dogs. I run every day around the park in the evening light and I breathe the pain in and out as my feet pound the pavement. I lay in bed for months after a car accident renders me still more broken. I am angry and hurting and involved with a married man when two “Christian” women call me a whore. I absorb it all and wonder when hell’s fire will burn my feet.

Then one night, months and months after running I am awakened in the deep pockets of the night and I sense HIM there. HE is so tender with me I begin to weep. Why would grace want to be with a wretch like me? HE is holding me in particles of being that can only be described as holy and I am being washed clean again and again. HE is transfiguring my brokenness with his beauty because he wants to be with me. HE wants to be the balm of healing in my broken places. HE holds me in my wild, tormented soul and the splintering from pain begins to be made whole. Like the heavy wooden cross he carried up the hill, the nails driven into his hands and the sword in his side, took my sin so that I would NOT be my sin. No matter what sin is done to me, no matter what sin I do to myself, I am NO LONGER that sin because he is my grace. He is the washing of the water, he is the bread and the wine.

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