I want to start this post out by saying “We are all messed up.” We all have flaws, scars, broken places. We are all as C.S. Lewis would say “Bent” or warped. None of us have reached perfection, and if you think you are closer than others, that just proves your not. But having stated this, I will also say their is beauty in these scars, in these messed up places.
Life is long and rough, and there are many places where you are going to fall down, or feel like falling down. There are many times you are going to endure a hurt that you think you will never get over. But, and thank God there is a “but, (that’s what she said) we don’t have to face these times alone. Most of the time when you are hurting, there is someone close or beside you that is feeling strong. When you are naked, bloody, bruised, and left for dead, there comes along a good samaritan.
We are a mosiac picture filled willed with a lot of rough edges, and swirling colors. We have no idea what part we are playing because we only see our surroundings and not the entire picture. The hardest part is trusting that the artist creating this mosaic is a master, and he can even fix the mistakes we have made, to make any even better masterpiece.
As someone once said, “the beauty is in the flaws.”
Beautifully, Broken Mess
She was a beautiful broken mess
Of stress, and loneliness. I must confess,
I marveled in the beauty of each broken piece,
And how tears would not come to bring release
To dried out eyes and even drier bones.
With no words words to say her spirit groans.
Such a beautifully,
He was a study in angles, quiet, and pain
Looking for answers were none remain.
With quiet indifference he hides his eyes
In fear they will see, he doubts his life.
Is he living, or striving, loving or lusting
A heart like metal with holes that are rusting
A study in angles,
They create a mosaic work of living art
That others see and hear, because they stand apart.
If they could only see the beauty inside the pain
And find joy in not knowing what in future lays.
To find, their struggles are colors forming the patterns,
And patterns, the patterns, of a new creation.
A mosaic work,
Beauty in pain
Paths are seldom straight.
Lives are not easily lived.
Love is never cheap.
Hope is beauty for the living.