She sat, curled in and around herself.
Her head was inclined, and her lips moved silently to the music that swelled around her, though the words hardly mattered. They were not the words of her heart this morning – joyful, full of wonder and praise. No, she mouthed the words – clung to them as one might grasp a lifeline – to keep herself from falling to pieces. It was there beneath her carefully placed war-paint, the shadows under her eyes that simply would not be hidden even with the cleverest of make-up tricks. She could not, would not, be shattered here. She would fight it to her last breath if it came to that. She would not be shattered here.
It was written all over her body that she was on the verge of losing it. Passers-by noticed with silent concern that her hair was carelessly pulled back – a dismaying change to her usual sleek, elegant brown locks falling gracefully over her shoulders. Others noted her choice of wardrobe: jeans and a black T-shirt as opposed to her typical skirt and blouse. Others still saw the gauntness in her face, the painful weariness of her eyes. Some prayed to themselves for her, while others simply gazed over, worried. None approached her or offered a shoulder, an ear, a word of encouragement. How could they know it was their silence that dragged at her soul? How could they guess that what she needed most was what they were least willing to offer?
She sat alone in the front-most pew on the left hand side of the small, comfortable church. From here she could see the band, the pulpit, the baptistery, and the cross – Oh the wondrous cross, she thought sadly. How could you, Jesus? How could you give up everything for a world full of nothings? The bitterness leapt to her throat in one painful bound. She shuddered and drew her knees into her chest, held on tight. The music shifted from upbeat to sober, and the lights dimmed for a more prayerful atmosphere. If you cry now, an ominous voice whispered soothingly from the back of her mind, no one will notice. They barely even notice you showed up for worship. She shook her head, rested her chin on her knees. No, she thought fiercely. You won’t break me. She squeezed her eyes shut against the noise, both external and internal, and waited for Him.
He saw her sitting alone, relying only on the strength of her own arms to keep herself in one piece. He chuckled to Himself out of experienced sympathy. They’d been here many times before. He approached her, took a seat so close their legs touched, and linked His fingers with hers. A pang seized His heart when He felt her whole body tremble. He knew why. She’d needed touch all along. She would normally have resisted, He knew, but she had no strength to fight Him now. It hurt to know she would always wait until she had nothing left before she turned to Him – it broke His heart of hearts. She would learn, He knew, but today was for a different lesson, an entirely different battle to be won.
Beloved, He whispered. Will you talk to me?
I can’t, she replied.
Why not? He stroked a thumb across the top of her hand.
Because my heart hurts for stupid reasons. He knew her words were aimed to drive him off. She knew they would have no effect on Him.
Beloved…will you speak?
I hate my life, and that makes me selfish and ungrateful.
Why does it make you these things?
Because you’ve blessed me in so many ways.
What do you need, my love, He asked as he stroked her hair, that I haven’t already taken care of?
I need a job, Jesus.
Why?
To make money and feel like I’m contributing to society.
Be honest with me, Love. He stroked her back gently. What is this about?
At this, all of her barriers collapsed and melted away . She buried her face shamefully in her trembling hands and wept bitterly.
Lord, she sobbed, I feel so worthless…no job, no companion, no home of my own! She shook her head violently. How can I give you all I have when I have nothing to give at all? She raised her eyes to lock with His. How can you still want me when I am nothing? What do you want from me?
Your heart, He answered simply, placing a sturdy hand beneath her chin. Can I have it?
It’s yours, she whispered, confused and undone.
Most of it, He acknowledged, but you’re still holding on to the broken bits because you think I won’t want them. He smiled, knowing her anguish better than even she did. I want all of it, Beloved. He reached up and wiped her eyes for her, kissed her forehead with the tenderness of a husband, of a Father.
Jesus, I’m sorry…she whispered brokenly against His chest.
Find your worth in Me, Beloved. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, protectively. Find your sufficiency in Me. I’ll be all you need. He cupped her face delicately and began to pray to the Father.
She heard Him pray, but the voice wasn’t His, while still familiar. She shuddered against His touch, though the hands were many, and not His own. There were far more than two hands on her now. Someone stroked her hair, her cheeks, someone placed hands on her back, wrapped their arms around her own. Someone squeezed her hand and kissed her brow. She opened her eyes and found herself surrounded by the congregation while the pastor prayed softly, tenderly.
Despite the tears that flowed freely from her eyes, her lips curled into a subtle smile, the smile of one forgiven…
The smile of one saved.
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