I walk the uneven path, the one that taunts with ice in winter and weeds in spring.
You’ve walked it, too, I think.
The only way to avoid the fragments is to stand still. But sometimes walking through the ugly is easier than pausing and taking it all in.
I must keep going, for if I rest and ponder, reality will overwhelm. And it won’t feel like rest at all. Where’s the rest for the heart?
I was made to journey, and the pull of my soul toward eternity is insatiable. Is there no other way to the dawn of forever? No other story written for me?
I take another step, looking down. I have to see the brokenness. I have to feel it under me, for as ugly as it is, the fragments are my story.
And what’s living when you avoid what’s true? What type of life jumps ahead to the epilogue, refusing to read the tainted chapters pointing toward redemption? Refusing to reconcile the broken?
To move forward, you must see the ugly. Must study it. Must read it over and over again to understand what you’d initially rather ignore.
Ignorance is bliss. But it’s not wholeness.
Some days, or even weeks, I crave the shallow perfection and find an empty rhythm. I ignore my path’s cracks and ponder everyone else’s. It’s safer to judge or clean up someone else’s mess than look at your own.
But the masked fragments, the broken edges — they just grow more drama. And they foster weeds so strong, they’ll choke you when you’re not looking. They’ll choke you when you are.
I beg the Rescuer to smooth it all out, to even the path.
He won’t look away as He watches me from the edge of eternity with a gaze so intense I know I belong to Him. His eyes smile, but his countenance is serious and strong and full of power, and I know in that moment He’s created me to walk on.
I shake my head as my eyes spill tears, and His eyes — they don’t stop smiling. But His face is so, so strong and firm. My fear and my grief don’t change Him. My longing doesn’t change His countenance of peace. Or His intensity.
He nods — ever so slightly — and I step forward. His gaze pulls me on and whispers, “The ending will find fulfillment only when the fragments come together.”
And in that moment I remember. This is My body that’s broken for you.
How quickly I forget. He’s choked on bitterness and judgment and confusion before. His broken body hung in fragments, and it haunts my thoughts. I forgot. My goodness, I forgot for a moment.
What’s resurrection without the dying? What’s redemption without the unraveling? What’s everlasting peace without the broken, uneven path leading me there?
The Eternal sustains all who stumble on their way. For those who are broken down, God is near. He raises them up in hope. Psalm 145:14