An Open Prayer


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Repairing is so often paired with physical amenities. My car is broken. The window is smashed. Her arm is broken. They need to be fixed: repaired.

I’m starting to realize how badly I need to be repaired. I’m broken; admitting that is easy. Evidence is in the malicious gossip I crave. It’s in the estrangement of two people I once considered “BEST.” Hell, it’s in the bags under my eyes and the fat that accumulates on my body.

I’m sick. My heart is sick. It has been for three years. When I graduated and lost purpose, I allowed myself to float. I allowed myself to break. It was a quiet thing. No snap of bone or sudden spurt of pain. Just the slow deterioration of my dreams and ambitions.

I need reparation. I can’t fix myself. I can’t fix my relationships, not on my own. I know I need to move, but I need You to move with me. Like a dance. You lead; I’ll follow. Kay?

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