The Piece Too Deep

They lay all about my feet: yellow pieces, red pieces, green pieces, black pieces. The shards sparkled gold in the azure haze of dusk. They flared and dimmed their colors like so many coals left behind from a roaring fire. Somehow, they seemed familiar to me. I tried to put the pieces back together. This jagged edge to this one. The beveled rim lines up here. As I placed each piece gently back in place the one before it would loosen, then fall. I began to attempt to hold all the pieces in shape while adding new ones at the same time. I failed time after time. With each attempt I became more and more frustrated. I began to fear what would happen if I couldn't get them all in place. What would they think? I creased my forehead in effort as I added glue to each broken piece. Surprisingly, it held together. I slowly added glue to the edge of the last piece and put it in place. Perspiration lubricated my hands as they rung. It held. I began to notice something strange about the object I had just reconstructed. It was incomplete. There were pieces I had somehow missed. I scoured the floor searching for any sign of the forlorn shards. Confused, I paused a moment to take another look at the object. At that instant the glue gave way and the pieces exploded around the room. Tears began to flow. I threw myself to my knees and frantically started reassembling the object but now no piece would hold. The jagged edges soon found rest in my shaking hands. Blood flowed freely adding its dark hue to the radiant color about the shards. My anguished sobs must have wakened him. Father came into the room without a word. He picked up my shaking body and looked deep in those flowing eyes. "My child," He said, "Why are you trying to put the old pieces back together? Why not start anew? Shape them better than they ever were before." He gently laid me on the floor and cradled my pierced hands in His. "First though, we must remove these old shards." My Father gently grasped on one of the small shards and began to pull. Pain scattered every coherent thought I had. I clenched my fist driving the piece deeper into the palm. "NO!" I cried, "It hurts too much." "Yes," He whispered,” The deep ones often do, but you must unclench your fist before I can get them out. If they stay in infection will follow." I stared into His eyes wondering if this really was the only way. My now ribboned hand mirrored the broken shards. I wanted to tell him to go away. I could get these pieces out. I could put them all back together. I did it once, I could do it again...but in the reaches of His eyes I saw the answer. Some battles need not be fought alone. With one deep breath I uncurled my ravaged fingers. "I trust You."

-Ty