Broken

I remember what it was like, being broken. Like a terra cotta pottery, smashed to smithereens. It was a cold, wintry night, up in the mountains, and even with a down jacket, it was downright cold. It was our last night in the village, and we've already said our goodbyes to the children. And though it was hard to do so, I held back the tears.

And so we prayed that night, and shared the lessons we learnt from God. There was this lump of something that was welling up inside me, a torrent of feelings and thoughts, that I tried to suppress. The more we shared, the more that lump grew, and my eyes began to sting. Before I knew it, the floodgates opened and I cried.

And I cried and cried and cried.

And through the blurred vision, I looked up and exchanged glances with my dear friends, and we laughed. There wasn't any need for explanation, because we understood. And we laughed and cried, as we huddled together. Someone said it was beautiful, and it struck a chord in my heart that touched me so. I don't think I have ever cried so hard. It was as if this fortress within me was torn down, that the hardened heart was smashed to smithereens... giving way to a bright, white light-so piercing, so pure was this light, it was cleansing me from inside out. Peaceful. Beautiful. What it felt like to be broken by God.

Beautiful reminders.

Before I run in this field of green.