they're so beautiful as it is.
why put the bumps?
the rough spots
the little cracks
that could be counted as blemishes to their delicate grace?
and then i wonder as i'm asked to
link up a post, old or new, that you feel is broken or imperfect.
why my broken pieces? why my flawed canvas?
don't you want to see what i can do? what good things i have in my treasure chest?
and then i take a look through my little wooden box, the same way an innocent child seeks to find something precious to share with daddy.
but to my shame i realize that i'm all broken.
and i hold up my nothings like a disappointed child to whomever may still love me.
and my Daddy picks it up. exclaiming over it as though i have some long-forgotten riches that the world has sought for centuries
and then i see.
i see it well.
this broken treasure is all He wants. because it's all i have.
and i am His child. and like a loving Father, He delights in what i have. in what i can do. in those little things to which He leads me day after day.
if He demanded my perfection
i'd be lost.
perfection is not what He asks for....
...He asks for my imperfect prose.
He asks for my grooves.
|linking up with emily at imperfect prose|
also featured at heather's beautiful corner of raining silence