He touched me. Not in an inappropriate way. I’m old enough to know
the difference. He probably thought it was harmless, friendly, carefree
touching. No. He touched me. I didn’t ask
him to touch me. I didn’t want him to touch me. I don’t feel safe. He touched
me. And then he was gone.
But me—I was still there.
Fractured pieces, crumbling to the floor. Fragmented. Disintegrated. Potsherds.
I shared my broken self once. I
revealed myself. I exposed myself. And I got a slap in the face. “That’s dangerous,”
was the only consolation I received. And up went a wall.
I felt the wall when she talked
with me. I want to connect. I want to love. I want the exchange of warmth. But
it’s that wall—it stands in the way. Isn’t this supposed to be safe?
“All I saw was a black hole.” He
could have stolen the words from my mouth. Didn’t I say that a few days before?
Perhaps— “This is my family,” he said. No.
It’s not possible. The walls are still too high.
Reconciliation.
Such a foreign word. Supposedly,
God has given me that ministry. But how can I minister to others when all I am
is potsherds?
See I know it in my head. I know
I need to reconcile myself to God. But then I can hear the repercussions:
“Perhaps you haven’t given your life to Christ!” Well, in a way you would be
right. But it’s not that simple!!
R
E
C
O
N
C
I
L
I
A
T
I
O
N
Remember who you were.
I’m drowning!
Remember what it was like.
I can’t breathe!
You are not there now.
I can’t reach you!
I am here.
I am going to die!
Trust me.
Why are you not pulling me out?!
I am here.
I can’t stand!
Wait.
No! The water is too—
There.
I can stand!
Yes.
I can breathe!
Yes.
You didn’t pull me out.
You didn’t need to be.
But—
You could stand the entire time.
I can breathe!
Remember how it was.
I can stand!
Remember who you were.
I’m alive!
You are no longer she.
Reconciliation.
Such a foreign concept when I
feel I am falling apart.
It overwhelms me; these potsherds
that I am.
Look to me, says God.
Look where? I can’t see you.
I’m drowning.
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