The Sacred Holes

The mist closes in;

It is suffocating.

I can’t hear God –

Like static on a faltering radio,

His voice comes and goes.

I can’t make out the words.

Where did I go wrong?

Why is He distant?

My sin is ever before me.

Unforgiveness for myself clothes me.

Perhaps He suffocates, too,

In that atmosphere.

Yet, even in the darkness

I hear Him bid me walk with Him,

Promising to teach me many things.

I think—why?

I am not a wonderful person.

And I know instantly

That those words have no meaning to Him,

And should not for me.

So I take His hand, my Lover’s hand,

And walk through the darkness,

Through the darkening fog

That stifles.

Through the wreckage of my life 

At my feet.

Over and over

I pick up those broken pieces,

Desperately trying to puzzle out

How they go together

Into the coherent whole

That has never been

Except in the mind of God.

The best I can do is a ragged fit.

Rarely do the jagged shards

Seamlessly join.

Yet, I continue, doggedly.

And I am tired, so tired, 

And discouraged.

The thought breaks upon me

In the sadness of the wee hours:

What if I quit?

What if I just leave

The gaping, ugly holes

In me?

What if I just leave

The broken fragments of myself 

On the ground?

The sight would be horrific,

Would it not?

Then He speaks.

“Leave the sacred holes—

The better for healing to flow from you

To others.

When time is full, 

I will heal them.”

And I feel the gentle stirring 

Of His power, of hope.

And the faintest ray of light

Breaks from within me,

Through the holes,

Slicing through the fog

To show me the Way.