NOT BEYOND REPAIR

Father,

Sweep the shards of our broken hearts

And rearrange them to Your Liking

In a magnificent stained-glass window

Fit to adorn Your Cathedral.

 

We sure hope that the painful pangs

That plague our evolving egos

Only heralds better things to come

Once the Peace that exceeds

Our shortsighted understanding

At last, engulfs us all in its oversized mantle.

 

We are past our breaking points,

We are scared out of our wits,

And beg for You to intervene

And bring us back to our senses.

 

Yet, in our well-meaning pursuits

To gain some semblance of clarity

And force a blissful epilogue,

We tread on the hornets’ nest of iniquity

Unleashing anew a pandemonium

Of panicky and stinging fury

That inflicts another round of searing welts

To our bleeding hearts and distraught souls.

 

We shed buckets of tears of agony.

Down on our knees, we invoke You,

The One Who peeks way beyond our earthly horizon,

And gets to behold the untold heavenly glories

Lovingly assembled in the Promised Land

Of our divinely ordained final destination.

 

We are fueled by the wishful thinking

That You will intuitively know how to skillfully salvage

The scattered nuts and bolts of our shattered personas

And mold us into invincible superheroes

Proudly wearing the colorful Medals of Valor

We rightfully earned during the epic skirmishes

When our higher Selves got the upper hand

Thus, becoming the privileged recipients

Of a much-coveted spot

On the crowded ceiling of Your Sistine Chapel

Where we, at last, can get a strong hold

Of Your outstretched Hand—never to let go of it again.

 

Anyas Spencer, Medford, Oregon, October 26, 2019

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