‘What does love look like? It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men …… That is what love looks like.’ - St. Augustine

Friday, February 10, 2012

An Open Letter To My God

If I had a beautiful voice, I'd sing to you. But I don't. If I had a brilliant mind, I would think magnificent things for you. But I don't. If I were all goodness and purity and perfection, I would wrap myself up for you, just as I am, and give me as a gift.

But I am not those things. I am none of those things.

My immaculate and yielding God, all I have to give you is lost, ugly, wretched, old, useless, dark or broken. What could you want with those things? I'm a torment of want and waste. There is nothing of value in this sullied frame that I can gift to you. Nothing but ash and dust.

All I can give you are my intentions to be good and kind and pure and unbroken and beautiful and light. I fail so miserably at it. Why would you want to be there for me? Why? What is in it for you? What could you possibly get from such a terribly ill-formed, ill-wrought creature? I am so unworthy of anything you offer. I am fat, old, ugly, useless, and broken broken broken. So broken. Unfixable -- it feels unfixable. My hands are empty. I have nothing to give you, and that makes me so very sad.

God, there are family members who have wounded me in a way I do not know how to fix. How soul-shattering it is to be falsely accused. It is a cold and terrible thing. A knife that remains fixed in place, and will not move. I cry out to you, My God, for help. I put both hands over this wound to staunch the bleeding, but the grief pours out and out as if there is no end.

This is such a old wound, torn open a thousand times over my lifetime. You have been witness to it. You know. What can I do to heal it, my God? How can I protect myself from another thrust of the blade? Deceit and hate swirl around me like a choking haze of smoke. I feel like it would be easier to simple not be. To circle back on life, like a pull-string, and coil back into nothingness, so deep and primary and malicious is this wound.

I want to understand why this person has so much hate in his heart for me. I want to understand why he chose to call me 'an embarrassment' to my family. What have I done? You know my heart, God. How can I be so wrongly judged? How could someone whom I have carried and nurtured in childhood, someone I at times protected from others, someone I have prayed for and hoped for these many years -- how can such a person so outrightly and so completely misunderstand the very soul of who I am?

I am calling out to you my God. I feel so lost and hurt and so completely bereft. I cannot stop weeping. Hear me. Please, my Lord and My God, turn your ear towards me and listen. Teach me understanding and acceptance and forgiveness. Put your hand on this gushing wound and heal it.

Be here with me. Hold my heart.

5 comments:

  1. Sending you love.

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  2. You have written a beautiful, stirring, powerful psalm, Keri.

    I am so sorry for your pain--but actually, not if it brings you ever closer to the One to whom you are crying out.

    But I will pray your desert time is no longer than it has to be for His good purposes!

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  3. Oh Keri. Sending love and hugs.

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  4. :*( I'm so sorry people close to you have hurt you so deeply. I, too, have been hurt by members of my family. It is hard, hard, hard stuff. I don't think there's a knife that cuts deeper or with more pain than the one wielded by those who are supposed to be there to support and defend us. That's why our kids have such a hard time getting over stuff that happened to them, too.

    I still think you're pretty amazing, though. :-)

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