We are all broken.


Friday, September 20, 2013

Traci

That night before
ten women
gathered
to pray.

how many months
had passed?

she had
suffered
and
waited

and bought beautiful hats

she had
praised
and waited

and loved on her little girl as she left for college.

everyone
watched

as she didn't let the disease win.

purple
bracelets
and
purple
toes
and
purple
clothes
in honor of her gracious fight.

people
partied
in pre-chemo honor
as she
celebrated through the pain.

that night before
ten women
gathered
to pray.

And the
healing power
of a
mighty God
stormed in
like an
indomitable
tornado
swirling through
her body
and
cleansing her soul.

the next day
after
ten women gathered
to pray

the doctor's words
swept her world
like a vigorous wind
and those waiting in the wings heard

SHRUNK.
MERCY.
BLESSING.

The beauty of the broken
flies in the face of
discouragement
doubt
and
disease.

The beauty of the broken
purifies the darkness
and tears away
fear
and is
never
forsaken.

The beauty of her brokenness
lifts the heart
of the
faithful
to see the
peace in the storm.

Party on,
sweet Traci.

Ten women
and
hundreds of others
continue
to pray.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Diann

It's rare

Someone whose very name
even when spoken softly
spreads life like wildfire.

It's immediate

because that name
floods the mind with memories
and fills it up until the ocean o v e r f l o w s
and tears fall.

It's unusual

Someone whose suffering has penetrated
the hearts of thousands
bolstered the prayer life
of hundreds
inspired courage through
ENcouragement.

She breathes beauty
as her broken body
belabors
and
braves
the disease infiltrating her being.

But her
basest response?

Praise.

Her hands
outstretched in purest
simplest
love of the Father
push through the darkness
and shine
reckless abandon as she
TRUSTS
and
FOLLOWS
and
quietly
SERVES
in the midst of
the agony and despair of earthly sorrow.

She dons a blonde wig
and
smiles
as c o u n t l e s s
sit at her feet
and learn
that
God doesn't waste a hurt.

She answers the phone
and
whispers
through nauseous fog
and the love
of Jesus
penetrates the soul.

She cries out in pain
and her Father
kneels down,
softly holding
her close:
peace in the midst
of
heartbreak.

She
is
a
warrior.

And a host
of those infected
by her humility
stand at her side
weapons drawn and ready

Sending powerful prayer
to heaven for
HEALING.

He has not forsaken her.
Her brokenness is not forgotten.
Her beauty reaches a nation of writers
and I
lift a pen in honor

of
Diann.


 
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