The Hem of His Garment
I am functioning but broken,
I still answer the calls.
send the emails
and keep the days moving
because life does not pause for pain.
To everyone looking in
I seem like I have things under control.
Inside, burnout sits on my chest
like a heavy bag of cold, wet sand.
It turns the simple act of getting out of bed
into a cold, solid, concrete wall that I just cannot climb over.
I lie there in the quiet...
watching the light shift across the wall,
staring at the dirty clothes,
the unwashed dishes
and the dust gathering on the sill.
My mind a rollercoaster of emotions flying on a loop.
I wonder how I am supposed to keep going.
Will the medicine kick in
because I ran out of strength three weeks ago.
How do you choose joy
when you are carrying a shattered heart in a working body?
You stop pretending you can lift that weight yourself.
You just lay your head back on the pillow
and let the Lord step right into the cluttered room.
He doesn't stand in the doorway shaking His head.
He steps right over the pile of unfinished work,
walks through the dark corners of your mind
and sits down on the dusty floor beside the bed.
He reaches out with calloused hands,
places them right over that cold, wet sand
on your chest.
Pulls your shaking fingers into His own.
He breathes in slow.
Teaching your lungs how to take the very next breath.
Joy isn't pretending the mess went away.
It is looking down and seeing the Lord
sitting right there in the dirt with you.
His sleeves rolled up and His palms warm
against your skin.
It is Him gently turning your face away from the wreckage,
wiping the sweat and tears off your cheeks
and letting you know it is okay to rest
while He sits guard over your soul.
I am functioning but broken, yes.
I am standing in a life covered in dust and scattered pieces.
We are in this together now,
walking this long road side by side,
taking it one single step at a time
as I reach out to touch the hem of His garment.
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