Broken.

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 Dear Lord,

We’re broken. No. I am broken. To a million pieces and nomatter how much I try to glue it all together it only leaves me with scarred hands. Bleeding. Trying hard. Too hard to stop the blood from gushing out like a mighty waterfall. Trying hard to blur the memories that become a little more clearer by the tick of the clock. The memories that crash me a little bit harder every time against the stone walls. Tall walls. Prison walls that trap me in thoughts that are in darkest shade of black. Darkness that I can feel take form. A form so thick with no heartbeat. A form with a foul smell so strong I can feel my head spinning. Slowing down. Breaking. Breaking a thousand different ways. Again. And again. And again.



The battles that count aren’t the ones for gold medals. The struggles within yourself – the invisible, inevitable battles inside all of us – that’s where it’s at ~ Jesse Owens

Lord, help me keep my mind on things above. Where Christ is seated on your right hand.  If there be any virtue, if there be any praise attached to it, may my mind dwell on it. May the peace of God, which passes all understanding keep my heart and mind through Christ Jesus.

Amen

Location: 3 Harris St, Bulawayo, Zimbabwe

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