It’s all coming undone

It’s all coming undone—

not slowly, not gently,

but with the violent unraveling of threads pulled too tight for too long.

I clutch the strands with trembling hands,

desperate to hold the tapestry of my world together—

to mend what’s tearing,

to bind what’s breaking.

But the harder I grasp,

the faster it slips through my fingers.

My strength is not enough.

I cannot force the seams to stay.

I cannot command peace into the chaos.

So I stop fighting.

I let go.

And in the ache of surrender,

my heart shatters like glass dropped in the dark—pieces too small to gather,

too sharp to hold.

I stand there, hollowed and helpless,

watching the storm rage on,

watching everything I tried to hold fall beyond my reach.

But then—

with both hands trembling, bleeding, desperate—I reach for the only thread that does not fray.

The only place where healing flows.

The only One whose strength is never spent.

I fall at His feet

I grasp the hem of His garment,

where healing flows,

where power dwells,

where mercy meets the mess.

The faintest touch.

The smallest faith.

And still—He meets me there.

Not with condemnation.

Not with shame.

But with healing in His wings,

grace flowing like oil into every fractured place.

He does not ask me to sew it all back together.

He doesn’t demand I fix what’s torn.

He gathers the unraveling,

the mess,

the mourning,

and He weaves something holy.

In His hands,

the frayed becomes beautiful.

The broken becomes redeemed.

And the undone

becomes the place where I am most held.

And though all else unravels—

I am held by the One who holds it all together.