Dear M.

9 Months, Dear M.

Dear Father; Dear M.,

Oh, the things that have changed in all this time. You aren't what makes me whole, just for seconds at a time. I see a finish line, and I'm still limping. And it's mine now; it's mine tomorrow; it's mine when the One who loves me eternally calls me home. I'm still limping, still cracked and bleeding and bruised, but I am borne up in my Father's strong arms.

I am shaking ceilings now, my love. I am at the front of the crowd. I am falling in and stepping out. Can you believe this is where we are now?

I'm still fragmented all these months later. I still believe some days that you are all I need to mend myself.

I forget I cannot mend me. I forget that you are vessel, vehicle, and not an absolute balm.

He mends me in His way. Your voice is His voice. It has always been His. 

I lift my hands high. Father, You have the key to the cage in my chest. Father, You have every finger, every tremor that slips down my hands. Father, You have everything, even M. Father, please, help me let this go.

I am still afraid of the moments when you leave me in the dark. I am still afraid of silence. I am afraid of the lies. I am afraid of myself and who I am when the world shuts off and I am still there, a quiet shadow in the dark.

I am still afraid.

But Father, You are always here. You have my hand. You have my heart. You love me unconditionally.

I am not alone.

Anchor me down in the light, Father. Anchor me down and anchor me down and love me until I believe it will stay. Give me faith to believe. Quell the lie that my eyes must behold before I believe.

Father, will you laugh with me when I tip my head back, when I throw my arms up to the sky, when I worship You?

Father, a million words on black paper is not enough. Father, I have told you a thousand things before I opened my mouth, before the thought ever existed. Father, please, help me love.

Remind me to worship.

Admonish me when I forget M. is just Your vessel.

So, instead, just this:

Father,

I love you.