Have you ever held so tightly onto something, convinced it was life and good and yours, only to find out it was none of those things?

It’s interesting that the word cleave can mean either to “cling” or to “split apart”. I’m finding that in my pride I cleave to what isn’t good for me, and in my humility seek to cleave back to the Lord. Thank goodness He is defined by His steadfast love for me, and I’m learning to thank Him for His discipline.

What has shattered around you? What glass shards are you standing among, remembering what once was, only to be reminded that it will never be again? Trials make fools of us all when we stand on the pedestal of pride, but trials of this kind also connect every pain to the same idea: we must cleave from one, to cleave to the One.

I walked among the rows,
Swept up into the scent of earth.
I walked among the colors,
Flowers of all ages and hues and shapes.
Caressing their silky smiles with dirt-filled fingerprint ridges
I memorized their stories and listened to their tall tales.
Day after day I adored them,
Day after day,
Sunrise after sunrise,
Sunset after sunset,
No imperfection could be claimed
Against the garden I grew to be one with
Until, you asked permission to walk among the laid stones;
Beautiful gravel paths spider-webbing their fingers
Throughout my masterpiece:
Wild and tamed,
Overgrown and polished flowers.
The beauty of my heart laid forth
As a celebration to all of my turmoil and strife.
I had no idea they could cower.
As the trail of your shadow fell centimeters from your perfectly bare feet,
My whole world began to alter.
Step after step I frantically clawed and grasped for the withering beauties
That once held my own beating heart.
Step after step they faded to death in the wake of your walking.
I screamed at you,
Clinging white-knuckled with what little I had left of the world,
The beauty and timeless creation that was now left smoldering as ashes.
Cradled in my arms,
Clutched between sweating and shaking palms and knuckle-creases,
I sputtered and spat through sweat and tears and demanded an explanation.
It was the gentle “Look down” that caught my attention.
Frozen in confusion, my anger subsiding momentarily,
I slowly loosened my death-defying grip to move watery eyes downward.
There, in my arms,
Where a bouquet of delicate beauty
And heavenly scent lay just seconds before,
Was an assortment of thorny weeds.
Scratching at exposed forearms and tearing at flesh,
Dirt, blood, and tears fell onto the dropping weeds.
Where once I thought I clutched flowers,
I was clutching weeds.
Where once I was angry at the destruction,
I was relieved for the freedom.

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Thank you Holly, my poem is birthed from your beauty and honesty.