Written February 27, 2011.

“Here, Lord, I lay down the remnants of my broken life.” The pain-filled memories, the fears, the failures, the hopelessness.

The clock ticks steadily on, marking the passage of time and counting down the days that I have left. I’ve tried to piece my life back together, but my eyesight is too poor to see the bigger picture. So I grope in the dark for missing fragments that I cannot find, past hope that anything will ever make sense to me. How easily the clumsiness of my human hands can shatter that which I hold most dear; how difficult it is for my trembling fingers to paste together what I can never truly restore.

After years of trying, after countless nights of frustration marked by tears of regret, I have given up; the outcome of this chaos is no longer up to me. I see an empty box sitting conspicuously in the corner, as though waiting for me to make the decision. With a heavy heart I gather up the fragments of my brokenness and place them carefully, one by one, in the box. Each time my fingers let go of another part of my shattered life, I feel again the ruthless stabs of hurt and disappointment that broke my heart. I feel the blunt force of failure that devastated my dreams. I feel the intense, throbbing pain (oh, God, how it aches), the persistent reminder of a ruined life that I singlehandedly destroyed.

I put in the last fragment and close this cursed box of what could have been but I fear will now never be. My future is out of my hands. Blinking back the tears that blur my vision, I label the box with a single word, the emotional implications of which no one else could ever understand: PIECES. It is time to bury them.

It resembles the morbid scene of a funeral as I stand with eyes cast down upon the fresh heap of earth; yet the solitary mourner is the very loss which is mourned. What remains of me is only a shell; everything that characterized me as a person is forever lost. I know I will never return; I will not be the one to uncover the box. If these pieces can be brought back to me in their entirety, it will be the work of a power beyond myself. In faith I erect a marker in the symbolic shape of a cross upon the grave of my broken heart, broken dreams, and broken life. In surrender I take a step back and look upon this scene for what I am afraid will be the last time; but in hope I offer only this eulogy: “Here, Lord, I lay down the remnants of my broken life. Do what You can with these pieces.”

Published in: on April 9, 2011 at 3:11 pm  Leave a Comment  
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