Glory

There is a bridge between my real heart and the pieces that are broken

And everything that lie therein all confused and repeatedly worn and trampled

And tired and exhausted and lonely and torn,

Maybe even a completely empty vessel when the dust settles and time collects the dirty debris.

There is a path that separates the, me that I am and the me that I could have been

But my heart won’t allow me to go there, because my heart doesn’t belong to any one bridge

It is split in between the woes of my incomplete journey and lost amid foreign travelers that have deemed

Themselves established but never intended to stay

Nomads on desolate land,

The land of which is a bounty of beautiful greens and innocent soils

Abundant riches and undeveloped wealth

Intoxicatingly copious amounts of treasure

Corrupted by the filth of man

I am a compilation of things scattered and unclean

And unholy while belonging to the most high god

But I suppose that there is forgiveness for my lands undiscovered sins

Of which I have tried to hide their ugly faces in the mouth of my secrets

But lo and behold, though my attempts have been sometimes barren in their fruitlessness

Now I have reason to be different, something new and rejuvenated, spotless and somehow through the glory of god’s amazing grace, perfected,

Made whole by the radiance of new wonder

And I am grateful

There was a bridge between my old heart and the pieces that were broken

And as I was a cripple and wounded by my own transgressions, and blinded and bruised and abandoned and scared,

But now…

I am found