(I wrote this late last night as I was thinking of some stuff that life has recently brought my way. Hope it speaks to someone)
My flaws are a part of me and what I offer
Bound and gagged in the bandages of my humility
I try desperately to shrug off the tight cloth that hides the wounds, but all you see are the jagged cuts; gaping wounds in my flesh
Why do you poke at my wounds, ripping the bandages off so you can take a closer look?
Where is your healing oil? Is there no balm in Gilead for this sin-sick soul?
Ravaged by my actions; haunted by the consequences of my weakness;
Watching as those who once called me friend, slowly retreat from my presence
Disgusted by the appearance of my wounds, their mock-concern at the stench of my brokenness
I cry out for healing to be swift; that these bandages will come to represent cords of strength and virtue
That once more I will be comely to look upon
That as the flesh reforms and renews itself: the scars, telling their own story of victory
That shame would be no more, and in its stead will be thoughts of who I am and not what I did ….
islandgirlinthewest 