I cannot promise where this post is going, but it’s been percolating in my head for a few days. I’ve given the relentless Wench Muse, who manages to remain just out of reach, the night off because this has to be me speaking, not some outrageously good-looking Australian female influencing my words. But that’s another story for another day.
Writing things like this often begins with a single word implanting itself in my mind. I don’t know why or how, but when it surfaces, there’s a sense that a story hangs in the balance. The word “broken” has been on my mind for three days. So much is broken in our world, and it’s convicting to face the truth when we include ourselves.
I just had a glass of wine served by my favorite bartender, who handed me a baggie of some really good shit…two beautiful Morrel mushrooms. Her gift of these beauties told me I could not break her trust in wanting me to enjoy them, so I resolved to learn the best way to prepare them.
Methinks sauteed in butter and garlic may be a good choice. There was a second glass of wine because one never breaks a good conversation with a good friend, do they?
The last two years have been a year of breakage and healing amidst the few remnants left behind. Looking through the shards of the last 20 years, I found something so valuable that words are few. I found myself wrapped in a badly bruised faith—badly bruised but not broken. Finding that damaged part of me was an awakening, but there is still much to go.
The most recent breakage was my trust by individuals who groomed me and cultivated a relationship to perpetuate an elaborate fraud. Another broken trust, but I must confess it was accelerated by my complicit greed. I was broken on multiple levels, but hey, broken is broken. I had to own it. My hope is the fraudsters have the decency to make things right. One can hope.
Over the years, I’ve inflicted my own damage with a trail of broken hearts, broken promises, broken trusts, and broken commitments. Even with that track record, I remained doggedly wrapped in a badly bruised faith after a life-long commitment had been broken with me. Who could blame me for breaking with my Lord and Savior? I didn’t. I didn’t break away as much as I let external interferences distract me and dilute my commitment to Him, and that’s as good as losing it.
Psalms 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” So, I must stay strong, be still, and refuse to lose what’s left.
Peace! G.