Friend

This week, I sat in a room with a friend, who may or may not know Christ. We were in a group setting, and she was in an eating disordered frenzy, ranting, hating herself for giving in to ED. As she shared her story, I noticed a cube in her hand that she was rapidly and manically playing with. Her anxiety so powerful that she could not keep her hands still. I was shocked at what she was furiously fidgeting with. She held in her hand a "salvation cube," one of those picture cubes that unfolds to tell the story of the gospel. It is the kind that I used on my mission trip in the Philippines to share the gospel. Here I sat, listening to her story and her hurt, watching her hold the gospel unwittingly in her hands. Here is my letter to this precious princess:

Dear friend,
I can’t claim to know your hurt,
But I feel pain as your express yours.
Tangible anxiety, starved frenzy,
How familiar I am with that hell.
Dear friend,
That cube that you hold in your wretched hands,
Folding, refolding, fidgeting furiously,
Friend,
That is the key, dancing between your fingertips,
Splattered with your honest tears,
That puzzle somehow is the answer,
You pain was carried upon that CROSS,
The one that you so relentlessly exhaust.
You hold the Savior of the universe, the gospel.
Dear friend,
Do you know? Have you heard?
You hold in your hands the way, truth, and life.
He can heal your deepest hurt,
Unearth and place His salve your most buried pain.
He can sustain you…
And me…
Friend,
That image, icon, story,
That you unremittingly open, close, and begin again,
Is also the ONE that I have forgotten, gathering cobwebs on the shelf of my heart.
Friend, you may be closer to Him than I am.
Your brokenness, raw and real,
Is what He seeks.
Your emptiness and desperation will drive you to your knees,
At His feet.
So hold fast to that truth, dear precious friend.
It is your Salvation.
Thank you for reminding me of my Salvation.

Healing

Who knew healing would hurt so bad?
Who knew getting better would make me so sad?
Years of not feeling pile up like mounds of snow,
Ages of thawing and so much more to go.
Who knew right would feel so wrong?
It makes sense, considering wrong was right for so long.
Re-defining life means stirring up the put.
Though it is ultimately best, I would rather not.
The paradox of descent to rise above,
Joins with the death that gives birth to love.

True Vision

The looking glass,
What a strange invention,
More so than a sea of faces,
The mirror captures our attention.
Accurate reflection?
I plead no,
Yet look all the more intensely.
Reflecting phantom images,
Mere perceptions,
Distorted colors, shapes, sizes, contours.
Why gaze at an imitation?
Maybe…
There is a reason we can’t look ourselves (our real selves) in the face.
Maybe…
There is a reason why we can’t stand back to admire or distain.
Maybe…
My eyes were never meant to fall on my face, my body, myself.
So I unglue my eyes from the reflective SURFACE to face…
Upward
Outward,
And I finally find true vision.