The Lie Of Being Whole

So this is a poem I wrote back in the summer of 2019 right after I got back from Glasgow. A bit of backstory for you, I was in a not so great place for reasons I will save for a different post. I was going to my old youth group because it was a safe place, and I needed that in a very bad way. They were having an art night, a time to showcase art of any kind made in expression of how God was moving in you at the moment. I didn't really want to participate as a lot of my confidence was wrecked, but Joey, the group leader, convinced me to sign up. I thought I knew exactly what I was going to read, an old poem I wrote years ago when I was preparing for my turn at Story night. Well... trying to play it safe when it comes to God working through you is a recipe for him to prove you wrong. I wanted to do something that didn't require vulnerability or transparency of where I was, so obviously, God had other plans, and I wrote this poem in under 30 minutes. Words that itched at the back of my throat because they needed to be said, burned under my skin because they demanded to be felt, and words that echoed in my ears because I needed to hear myself say them. I needed to believe them. Maybe you need to hear them too, so I'm sharing them here in hopes that someone who needs this will see it.

The Lie of Being Whole

There is an obsession, fixation, high-def magnification on the perception of being whole. The 'I've got this,' full-coverage foundation, self-deprecating to misdirect, impression of being whole. Sometimes it's for the benefit of others, gotta save face, be a good example, lead the way kind of act.

But is it really? Does it feel good to have someone believe what you need them to? Even though your star-shaped peg won't fit in the world's square-shaped hole, you can at least convince someone that you fit.

You still won't fit.

But why do we try when the undiscernable, ever constant shape of our God will always come to meet our rough edges?

I've tried and convinced so many that I'm that square peg...and now I hold no shape. I believed my act and let people force me to fit until I broke. Splintered glass, my pain refracting for all to see. The world would sweep me away, throw me aside, but only the one that loves me most would smile and say, "At last," and show me the truth.

I was never meant to fit, my perception of being whole was always wrong. Only from a distance can you see that shattered glass makes a mosaic, one that an unbroken piece of glass could never be.

So yes, I'm broken, splintered, sharp around the edges. And I want everyone to know, maybe the refractions of my light will hit your broken glass, and you won't feel so alone.

The perfect whole is found in the brokenness of many who are brave enough to let the Master lovingly pick up their broken pieces and show them His vision. For it is so much more beautiful than any perfectly fitting peg.