Twinkle Of The Father's Gaze

I'm finding everyone has a story of some kind that leaves them carrying "broken pieces" of themselves. Everyone has lost a loved one, been abandoned, been abused physically or verbally, been let down, or in some way found out just how fragile human emotions are when faced with the friction of other humans. Filling up the earth from top to bottom, imperfect beings try to carve out a track to happiness, inevitably bumping into each other and leaving often ugly bruises. But there is a healer, and a guide ready and waiting. This is something that has been on my heart and is written to all those who've carried "broken pieces."    

             Look! It springs up even now. Life is being birthed from the promise and nurtured by hope’s gentle kisses. How sweet is the laughter of new life. How precious is the sound to your Father dear. Sweet child, grow up sweetly. Brush away those lies that like to fall on tender ears. O innocence, keep close to your Father’s side and someday He will present you as the spotless bride.

            I did not stray, but another did. Why did he want my life when he had his own? He took from me what I did not know I had to give. He was careless. He dropped that stolen part of me, and it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. But I picked them up.
           

            One by one by one.

            They were broken, but they were me. It hurt to hold them, their edges sharp in my clutching hands, but I did not let go. I knew the Healer could help me. I brought Him those pieces, those broken shards of me.
            “Twirl,” He told me. Twirl for the world to see.”

            “But Papa, first you have to fix me! They won’t like what they see.” And I held out my hands to show Him the damage done to His handiwork. As I reached out though, the broken pieces I had carried so carefully disappeared. Instead, I saw only the scars on my hands where I had gripped too tightly.

            He took my hands in His own, and I saw He had scars too. He kissed those places where the blood had streamed through, and simply said, “My daughter, I love you.”

            In His eyes I saw myself as I had never seen before. The girl in the reflection was a little girl, but she was grown too. Her eyes laughed at me, as if to say, “Don’t you see who you are?” For it was me in the mirror of the King’s eyes, me who fit perfectly in the twinkle of His gaze.