You’re near the brokenhearted

God, You say You are close to the brokenhearted.

Then surely, You have never been closer than You are right now. Because this heart—my heart—is shattered, scattered in pieces too small to gather. Fragments lie across the floor, too delicate to mend, too painful to ignore.

The world moves on, stepping past the wreckage, oblivious.

Some brush against the shards, maybe nudging them aside, but they do not stop. Yet here I am, kneeling in the ruin, unable to take another step forward.

But, God—if You are close to the brokenhearted, then You are here.

You are not watching from a distance; You are beside me, within the wreckage.

You do not walk past the pieces of my pain—you kneel beside them. You gather them in Your hands, hands that bear the scars of love.

You do not rush me past the sorrow,

but sit with me in it, whispering that You are near.

If You are close to the brokenhearted,

if You draw near to the crushed in spirit,

then even in this wreckage, there is something holy. Even in the breaking, there is beauty—because You are here.

So today, with trembling lips and tear-stained hands, I thank You for the broken pieces.

For if it is the cracks that let the light in,

then this heart of mine is flooded with the glow of Your presence. If shattered places make space for You, then I will not despise the breaking. Because in the ruin, I have found You nearer than ever before.