The Holes in My Heart

The holes in my heart,

they breathe.

They inhale loss.

They exhale longing.

Every beat is a memory

that didn’t heal clean.

I learned how to bend

before I learned how to stand.

I learned how to survive

by splitting in places no one could see.

I shatter.

I tear.

I break and I bow…..

And somehow I keep breathing anyway.

And there You are.

Not rushing.

Not flinching.

Standing in the rhythm of my ruin

like You’ve been waiting for the sound of my name.

You don’t ask how this happened.

You already know.

You don’t touch me like I’m fragile,

You touch me like I’m worth the cost.

You love me.

You chase me through the dark corridors of my own chest.

You want what is truest for me,

not what is easiest,

not what is quiet.

You gather the fragments..

Jagged faith,

fractured trust,

pieces of a girl who learned too young

that love can hurt.

You don’t drop a single one.

The holes in my heart

match the holes in Your hands.

Wounds recognizing wounds.

Pain calling pain by name.

You pull me close.

Closer than my fear,

closer than my shame,

and You say, Give Me the pieces.

So I do.

I place my brokenness

into hands that were broken first.

Nail-scarred.

Open.

Still warm with mercy.

And the miracle is this,

All my fragments fit.

They settle into the hollows of Your hands

like they’ve been expected.

Like the cross already made room for them.

And as they fill You,

I am filled too.

Your wounded hands become whole

not unmarked,

not erased,

but glorified.

And my heart

my holy, broken heart..

Learns a new rhythm.

Pain and hope

breathing the same breath.

Death and resurrection

sharing the same pulse.

I am not healed away from You.

I am healed into You.

Held.

Known.

Made whole

in the hands

that still carry love’s scars.