Before I was shattered, you were

Before I was shattered, You had already been torn, Your flesh bruised, Your blood spilled like a love song sung in crimson.

Before the weight of grief bowed my soul to the ground, You had carried the cross,

Bent beneath the burden of my pain,

Naming my wounds as Your own.

Before a single tear escaped my trembling lashes, You had stood at the grave of Your friend, And wept.

Not out of powerlessness,

But with divine empathy—

A God who mourns with the mourning,

Who enters our sorrow not to avoid it, but to redeem it.

Before I knew loneliness,

You cried out in the darkness,

“Why have You forsaken Me?”

So that I might never be truly alone.

Before my heart broke open in anguish,

Yours had already broken—

Not just for me,

But with me.

You walked ahead into the shadowed valley,

So when I found myself there,

I would not be afraid—

For You were already waiting,

Holding light in Your nail pierced hands,

Whispering, “I know the way. Trust me.”

Before I was lost,

You had marked the map with mercy.

Before I fell apart,

You had written resurrection into my story.

And now,

Even in my brokenness,

I find beauty—

Because You were broken first.

And in You,

All things are being made new.