but you didn’t see the hole in the wall,
the one i made with ringed fist in the basement that was our first home,
you didn’t know about the wall, did you? or the way i stopped eating, new-married, the way i needed canvas not to bring kingdom come but to make my own world disappear.
the way the glass pan shattered, apple crisp everywhere, and i asked him to eat it, please, because i’d made it for him, and so we picked out the glass together…
or the bread still raw in the middle, which he toasted each morning for breakfast too afraid to complain, or the cinnamon buns, black-burned, which he nibbled.
you didn’t hear the way he cried when he touched my bones and i asked him, kiss me anyway, and he did, and the walls shuddered for the bodies trying so desperately to make love
you didn’t hear me tell him i no longer wanted kids on our honeymoon. you didn’t see the way i forgot his birthday. the nights spent sleepless on the purple couch in the living room because i’d drank nine cups of coffee that day so i wouldn’t feel hungry.
yes, now, i bow low in white-gowned worship but then it was all earth-tones, dust to dust, and it was he who bowed to the scribble on the floor that was me
he bowed low and prayed God into my wife-form, and up rose a penitent woman born of hunger pains and husband’s pleas, a woman knowing she owed life to the savior in this man
and so i serve, not always without self… so often, with self… but with a gratitude that cries amen to the grace that is each day, that is Christ among us
broken writers, artists, believers… spill crumbs below… in a communion of the imperfect.
1. link up a post that you feel is ‘broken’ or ‘imperfect’ or somehow redemptive
2. put the ‘imperfect prose’ button at the bottom of your post, so others can find their way back here (see button code in right-hand column of my blog)
3. don’t feel as though you need to comment here (really), but please, read other’s offerings, and encourage them!
*’a messy love’ was made for a friend of mine; prints available here*