"After He said this, He showed them His hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord." John 20:20
Trying to remember why I'm doing this. THIS is a battle. In the beginning, it was so full, I could not hold all the words. I wanted to write for all of life in that place, but now? Now I am wanting to put the one talent back into the ground. Cover it. With dirt. Let's throw vulnerability in there as well. I am so way out and wild out of my comfort zone that it makes me feel a bit crazy. Am I? Insecurity strangles, and I have to sit down. Do a dish, feel the weight and sit down. Throw in laundry, claw at throat. Sit down. What is going on? Tears start, and I suck them back in. Vacuum tears. Sit down.
I am bare for all the world to see. White. Cellulite. Small heart inked, forever, on it. And I remember that day, that day in the tattoo parlor looking for something real. Searching for the clean and pure in filth. In the needle. Wanting to fit somewhere. Even then, I wanted something permanent marked on my life. Even if it hurt.
Then I met Him. Jesus opened Himself, His hands, to show the scars that my life made on them. On Him. Caress those holes that allow mine to heal. Kiss the offered cup of hands that shape this life. This one life that is marked on Him permanently. Even though it hurt.
So, even though I am raw. And scarred. And scared. Though I want the comfort of running and hiding. I will. I will myself to open for all to see. That Jesus is carving His Name on ME.
Even though it hurts.
Bernadette
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