"Why do you always write in fragments? It's very hard to follow, and why don't you use more nouns so I can understand what is going on?" She cocks her head at me then says, "No offense."
I smile into her eyes, innocent and dear. Nothing fragmented. No broken pieces. That soul not yet knowing its need to bow with all its strength to Him. Jesus. Her arms not quite aching with the holding up of worship and this desperate desire to build Him a throne. She is precious, and I take no offense.
Writing in fragments because I am one. Story not fully written, and His good work not yet complete. Not yet. I think of that long scar laid down and written in white flesh on my right foot. Our feet represent our walk with Jesus, and oh, hasn't mine been the broken one? The flesh opened to sin and shame and just bad choosing, only to be closed by stitches of His deep grace and His great love for me. Us. For our walking. I love that scar. His reminder that my feet must belong to Him too, and that they must travel the Truth Road or be sliced open again. Causing panic. Causing Fear. Taking us captive to pain. Again.
Fragmented feet. (I love feet!) Fragmented life. Words written down in the unfinished of who we are as we look through the mirror dimly. Seeing only in part. Smiling at the screen as I think of the One Who created us, and how the glory of who we are will only be revealed through Him. His time. No hurry. No rush. "I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God" Romans 8:18-19
He writes in fragments too. Me and You.
Bernadette
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