I will make you beautiful; the makings of a masterpiece

If Jesus told you a love story what would He say? What would you want Him to say?

I was tasked with writing a love letter to Jesus this weekend. I found that really hard. Probably harder than it should have been. In fact this last weekend was just hard in general. I have been struggling since. I asked to see one of our Pastors today because I was struggling living in the hard of it all. I think I went there looking for a hero to save me from my hard. Of course I didn't find one. I left wondering what I had been expecting to happen at that meeting. It wasn't a bad meeting, please don't get me wrong, it just wasn't the "rescue" I was looking for. Since I left I have been asking myself what it is I think I need, what is it I am wanting to hear?

I was reading some blogs that were linked up with my last post. I noticed that quite a few of them had parts of their blogs where they wrote as if Jesus was speaking to them, to their hearts. It made me wonder, what is it that Jesus would say to me.  Obviously these words are my own, but I have no doubt that He was the one writing them on my heart.

*I am lying under the covers, surrounded by blankets and pillows; it is my own downy fortress of protection. Jesus comes and sits next to me. I turn away from Him and curl into myself. He just scoots closer and rubs the hair away from my forehead as He speaks in a soft whisper*

I know you are mad at me. I know how people have suggested that when you remember your hurts happening that you should envision me there with you and I know how the thought of me standing there watching makes the pain of it even worse. You want to know how I could just stand there and watch and not stop it.

I know that part of you thinks that because I didn't stop it that I created you for this, but I didn't. I didn't create you to be a rag to mop up man's desires, nor did I create you to be invisible and broken. I created you to be beautiful, a masterpiece. Man tried to destroy my handiwork, but baby what he doesn't know and what you have forgotten is that I am taking those pieces and I am going to make the most beautiful stained glass work of art you have ever seen. It feels slow and those shards feel sharp, but that is because I am taking my time to fit all the pieces in just right. You are going to be the sparkliest stained glass this world has ever seen and art like that is worth waiting for.

*He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and leans in close*

I know you are frustrated and scared. I know this weekend brought up hurts you thought had finished hurting. I also know it brought up much fear, because it loosed up hazy realizations of memories you don't want to remember, things you don't want to know. You are so afraid of finding out what has been hiding behind that door with all its scratching noises, but I am bigger than that door, baby, and anything that lies behind it.

You curse your mind for all the barriers and safeguards it has put in place over the years. Don't curse them. They have kept you going until you were ready to break them down and until I could bring you the people to help you do it, but your going to have to learn to let them in. Let Me in.

You fear it will prove too risky and that they will just let you down, leave you hurting, leave you tending to tender wounds all on your own. Trust in my timing, trust in My people. I am putting you in their hands because I know that they won't let you fall. Allow them to hold you. Tell them what it is you need.

I made you a promise 13 years ago that your heart would be healed here in Groton and I moved heaven and earth to get you back here for your healing, so please don't let fear stop you from getting it. Tell my people what it is you need, I will help them to listen.

It is okay to be weak small one. It is okay to be vulnerable. You have tried to be strong all on your own for far too long.

*He takes my hand and I pull it up to my heart as He sings soft and low the words

Beautiful, Beautiful I made you beautiful and I will make beautiful things of your life.

Carefully touching you, causing your eyes to see, yes I will make beautiful things of your life.*

Trust me dear heart, trust me.

My Heart Breaks for Her

 My heart breaks for her.

(It is hard for me to say "me" that my heart breaks for "me". I can say "her". My heart breaks for this little girl in the picture, but there is a dis-connect between her and me. I am not sure why that is. I am trying to connect with her, to allow myself to feel broken-hearted for myself instead of just feeling "broken".)


I run my fingertips over the picture. I touch her soft blond hair, look into those blue eyes that are so big, her chubby little legs poking out of her short, white, little girl dress and she is the picture of innocence and beauty.


I look at her and I want to snatch her up out of the picture and hold her, protect her from the shadow that I know is lurking, and the tears spill over the damn that has been holding them back.


She is just a picture. Flat. I can't protect her. The shadow will get to her. Her little white dress of innocence will become stained and dirty. She will become nothing more than a dishrag used to mop up the shadow's desires. She will become broken and scared; looking for home. Words will elude her, she won't have them to say. No one will come to rescue her. No one will come to rescue her and she will cry. She will cry and the memories will hide in the recesses of her mind just as I imagine that she tried to hide. My heart breaks for her, because I can't take that away. I can't take it away, because her broken-ness is my own.


I am broken and all I can do is look at her and let the tears spill down, because I couldn't save her. Now I am left here looking at a picture of a person that I couldn't protect and all I can do is try to un-loose the memories that she burried deep. I need to find her crouched small in the darkened corner of my mind and bring words to her wordlessness, take her by the hand and lead her to the home that she so desperately sought all those years ago.


I need to look at her and see that she is me and I need to find that same broken-hearted compassion that I feel for her and give it to myself. I need to let the tears spill down for me as well as for her, because it is time for both of us to stop hiding.  I need to find the right someone to help me do this. To show me how to find her, to find the words, and the memories, and then how to get back home.