Some people say being broken is the end of it all. Well I say it is only the beginning.
Heal: verb Cause (a wound, injury, or person) to become sound or healthy again (Oxford English Dictionary)
It is May 5, 2001. I am watching the snowflakes dance down from the sky out of my studio apartment. As I look out the window, I am listening to the loud snoring behind me. As I was drifting away from my present time, I was snatched back to reality. He’s still here. Just a few hours ago my head was placed next to where his shoes lay. Well let’s be honest, it was more like slammed.
I began to dream about how my life could be. I began to play beautiful clips of running through a field of flowers with my strong man holding my hands. Strong man…he is strong. I began to count the unwanted gifts he gave me. I look at the old ones and searched for the new ones, so I could figure out a way to hide them from everyone outside of that front door. There goes that dream.
He stopped snoring. It’s 7:43 p.m. I am late cooking dinner. I am afraid of what is going to happen next. He is up now and I am watching his size 11.5 feet pound against those wooden floors that I have been dragged across so much. I refuse to look at him because I know it is anger and hate in his eyes, so I watch his feet, the ones that sent me to the emergency room two weeks ago.
As I cook his food trying to scheme a way to release myself from his wrath, he tells me he is leaving me. I should have been shouting for joy, but instead I cried. Why am I over here crying over a man that has broken me?
– Two ribs, finger, fractured jaw –
I begged him to stay but instead he ate, packed and left. I was not happy or relieved, but angry. How am I supposed to survive without him? I thought this was a trick so he could see who I am messing with.
It has been 6 days 8 hours 27 minutes since the last time I have heard from him, I thought to myself as I heard the loud booming noise come from my alarm. Guess he is really not coming back. I lifted my heavy body out of my creaky iron bed my grandma used to have and made my way to the bathroom. I cringed from the coldness of the tile floors that I should have been accustomed to by now. I picked up my bag packed with makeup. The pain from the wounds he has left me with is still there, but they are slowly leaving. I guess applying my makeup will be easier now.
I stared at myself wondering who I will become now that I am without him. My family says I can never keep a man. Maybe I should stop by his workplace after I get off. Anger began to creep upon me from him leaving. I guess I proved my family right. I balled up my fist and began to revive the gifts he had given me. Physical pain for me is much easier for me to bare than to think about the pain and upset that is rumbling from within.
I dropped to my knees…I cannot keep doing this. What is wrong with me? I yearned to be loved but it was never given to me. I should have tried a little harder. I sat there silent for several more minutes then I began to think about the song my grandma used to sing, “Pass me not, O gentle Savior, Hear my humble cry…” Why did she always sing that song? She always told me, “Girl if you don’t have no one else, you will always have the Lord”. “When you are going through something, talk to Him and He will hear you. He can heal you like no one else can”. I guess that was why she was so happy.
Can God really heal me? Can He even hear me? I have been hurt so many times and I am broken. How can God heal someone like me? I don’t even know what it feels like to be happy anymore. All of these thoughts rushed into my head. I suppose I will take grandma’s advice and talk to the Lord. Besides, what else do I have to lose? I haven’t prayed in so long, well nothing other than saying my grace or saying a little prayer before sleep just to get me by. I haven’t done one of those true prayers that grandma used to do that make you feel like God is really there listening to you. I remember my grandma disciplining me from skipping my prayers or saying them so fast. “Since I am on the floor I might as well pray”, I thought to myself. I kneeled, bowed my head, joined my hands together and began to pray.
It is February 13, 2003. I am feeling better now. I cannot believe I am moving out of this apartment. I looked at all of my boxes I have packaged and reminisced about all of the memories it holds. I remember when I got my first set of keys; I was so excited. Then my memories drifted to a darker place. I walked around looking at some of the holes in the walls I had covered with furniture and pictures. I rubbed my feet across the floor where I place the rug over the scratch marks from when I was dragged across the floor. As I was thinking about those days that haunted me so much, I didn’t realize that I was crying. I remember him yelling at me saying I will never be anything and I will definitely never make it without him. He said I was nothing more than a toy that he will play with from time to time. “Maybe I am nothing”, I said out loud. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” I screamed. “You are better now”! I was going to let my pain dictate my future, but then I heard God. Thinking about how God saved me almost two years ago began to warm my heart. I cannot allow him to control me anymore. I took my happiness and my mind back years ago, I said to myself while trying to get myself under control. Then I remembered that he stopped by a few months ago begging to come back. I remember myself slamming the door in his face with 911 already punched in on my house phone. Thinking about that made me chuckle a little bit.
Some people may think being broken is the worst thing that can happen to you. Well it was the best for me. If I was never broken into all of those pieces, I never would have found God. I never would have experienced His love that has continuously swept me off my feet. Being broken has allowed Him to come into my life and reconstruct me into the person God has called for me to be. My past is just that…my PAST. I learned from it, got stronger, and I am MOVING FORWARD. As I picked up the last box, I looked back into that old studio apartment that holds all of my old memories. I smiled, and began to sing that song that grandma used to sing, “Pass me not, O gentle Savior…”
O LORD my God, I cried out to You And you healed me. Psalms 30:2
He heals the brokenhearted And binds up their wounds. Psalms 147:3
That if you confess with your mouth the Lord and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation. Romans 10:9-10
Copyright © 2013
Copyright © 2013
*Based on an inspired story.