Broken Run


Jesus, Jesus.

I am coming to You. Straight to You.

I'm not waiting til I get my act together, I'm not lining up my ducks

I'm just running.

I'm running broken.

With my idols, my ideals, my illusions.

My addictions, my confusion, my obsessions.

With my anger, my distraction, my repression.

I'm coming towards You, knowing I cannot shake these off & bind them without You.

I'm coming sick with grief I thought I should have overcome months ago.

I come because I know now that no one else will do, no one else could save me.

I was waiting for a savior on a white horse,

& it's You.

It has always been You.

So here I am, here I've come, & this is what it's come to.

My stomach is turning as I reflect on the mess I've made, & the ways I've tried to clean it up.

I confess, & I leave my hands open. They're bloody & stained, full of lies.

I thought I could bury this; cover it all up with the right image of wholeness so that maybe even I could forget the brokenness that lurks beneath.

I've wandered from grace, & have desired the things that I hate.

I can see it now, how the things that I thought were the most crippling were an invitation to wholeness.

What I saw as abandonment was an invitation to intimacy.

When it seemed like I had been forgotten & forsaken, I was the only one who had turned away.

My hope seemed gone because I had hoped in things that disappoint.


All was vanity when my eyes weren't fixed on you.

I kept on waiting for acceptance & not receiving it from Your open hand.

Your open heart ...

Arms stretched wide on the cross in broken welcome.

That is the posture I picture when I think of the father of the prodigal returning.

Like You couldn't show how widely Your arms were to me without breaking Your very bones.

As though You were lifted up so that I could see You from how far I had run.

I don't have to hide anymore.

You see me, You know me, & still,

You want me.

Choose me.

Out of the mire & the dust.

I need not wait for any other rescue.


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