ister turns to me as light slips into night, her body curled next to mine, as my hands reach out in desperate hunger as I whisper, “look at me Julia, look at me.” How I need her eyes to see me. Slowly she turns and her fingertips caress away my tears. Her warm breath soothes my fears as she kisses my brow with hope. Lacing her fingers in mine she watches as slumber returns and eyelashes flutter and finally close upon my flushed cheeks. Face to face we shelter as hearts begin to beat as one. This has always been her way. To wrap this youngest with enfolded love as the dark eases the pain.
There were things to be kept silent for fear that if spoken aloud the family would break. But the family broke anyway as love leaked slowly from cracked and broken hearts. Fragments of repressed stories that burrowed deep into bitter hearts betrayed by secrets that never should have been.
The broken and the hurting are in need of healing. I was. And still am. I can show you the scars that remind me daily of the One who keeps rewriting my story with daily grace into a redemptive epic of love divine. (More found here).
As each day closes my heart presses, like the younger sister with the older, close to Him. My desperate hands reach out asking Him to turn His face towards me. I need to know that He sees “me”. And He does.
May I hear your story?