He picked up the pieces...

How hungry I was when I asked.
You to break my heart.
When I asked You to shatter it into pieces.
How hard parts of it felt.
How desperate I was for compassion to sit in the center of me.
True compassion.
How exposed I sat.
Looking at myself.
Looking at You.
How strong the Longing was.
To hold You close.
Touching.
Embracing.
Melting into each other.
Our breath One.
Hungry out of my mind.
For more.
Not satisfied.
Because I saw what could be.
Not settling.
Not compromising.
How easy it sometimes can be.
But I was hungry out of my mind.
And calling out.
To be broken.
To be soft.
To be strong.
Real strength.
That comes from my bones.
Those that hold me up.
Those that aren't seen.
Now here I stand looking down.
At my heart on the floor.
Broken into pieces.
Won't You help me pick them up?
And You answered "Don't touch them."
I looked up in question.
You continued "I will do it."
I saw the warmth in Your eyes.
The comfort in your gaze at me.
I saw the deep Love.
And I knew what You meant.
I knew it was the answer to my prayers.
That You would pick up the pieces.
And put them back together.
Intrictly, like You do.
Perfectly, like Your Love for me.
My pain evaporated in that moment.
The pain of a shattered heart.
The ache of a weary mind.
I saw You pick up my heart.
I saw you Love me.
I saw Hope.
You said "it's not over yet, my child."
"But if you remember the warmth in My eyes,
if you remember the comfort in My gaze,
you will find relief. You will find My Love.
You will find Strength. You will have Hope."
He grabbed my hand.
And as He grabbed my hand, I let go a little more.
I took another step forward.
I told Him how uncomfortable change is.
He told me about birth.
How beautiful it is yet so agonizing.
And we both smiled. And kept going.
Together.
"Thank You for Hope, Dad."

MLB