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God builds in ruins. 
There's a kind of betrayal so 

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subtle it looks like love. 
But it is not love. 

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It's stepping into the place of 
Christ, making myself the 

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sacrifice so someone else 
wouldn't have to break. 

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I thought if I absorbed the 
blows, softened the weapons, 

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swallowed the shrapnel, maybe 
then I would be safe. 

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Maybe then I would be loved if I
didn't realize the breaking was 

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never mine to prevent. 
It was theirs. 

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And sometimes breaking is it's 
mercy. 

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I stood there bleeding and I 
called it loyalty. 

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I cut pieces off myself to keep 
the peace. 

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I called it faith, but it was 
just self betrayal. 

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It is the slow erasure of voice,
of hope, of need in the name of 

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survival. 
And what kind of relationship 

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demands that? 
Only one already haunted by the 

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ghosts of ungrieved sorrow, the 
poltergeists of war, the Spooks 

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of silent rooms and shattered 
trust, it whispers. 

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Maybe if I'm small enough, soft 
enough, silent enough, I will be

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loved enough to stay alive. 
But safety isn't silent. 

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Safety is the kind of love that 
leaves room to speak, even when 

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I'm wrong. 
Even when I'm messy, even when 

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my words come out cracked and 
bleeding. 

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Safety is mercy, not fear. 
There's another kind of 

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betrayal, too. 
It looks like power. 

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It roars like strength, and it's
just the erasure of someone 

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else, the refusal to hear, the 
refusal to bend, the refusal to 

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carry any weight but your own. 
It thunders. 

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I must demand enough, control 
enough, and crush enough. 

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Then I will be strong enough to 
stay safe. 

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But that's not power, not the 
kind Christ showed. 

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Real power walks on water and 
rescues the drowning. 

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Real power raises the dead. 
Real power lays itself down and 

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picks up life again. 
Both betrayals are rooted in 

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fear. 
Both are hollow. 

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Both leave a void where love, 
just it, can't live. 

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And I see it now how often I 
traded pieces of myself to keep 

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the fragile, the fragile peace. 
How often I called it loyalty 

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when it was really loss. 
How often I gaslit myself into 

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believing that all suffering was
holy, even when it just, it just

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wasn't. 
I spent years trying to hold the

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ruins together, cutting myself 
open to patch the cracks. 

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When blood wasn't enough, I used
tears, and when tears weren't 

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enough, I used skin. 
And when skin wasn't enough to 

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hold it together, I offered up 
my bones. 

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And that was that was where I 
broke. 

46
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And for what? 
A house built on grief. 

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A temple for ghosts. 
But even as everything 

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collapses, God builds. 
Not after the wreckage. 

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In the wreckage he builds with 
hands I can't even see. 

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I feel it. 
He builds on ground I forgot 

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even existed, hope blooming 
through frozen earth, a future 

52
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breathing in the ashes of a past
I tried so hard to keep from 

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burning. 
Maybe it's only when we break, 

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like really break, that we're 
finally porous enough to let him

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build without getting in his 
way. 

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I think about how easy it is to 
see the boundaries of my body, 

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like your arm is not my arm and 
my skin is not your skin, but 

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somehow in the unseen places, 
the heart, the soul, the ties we

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call love, the lines, they just 
blur. 

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Where do I end and you begin? 
When love becomes a trauma bond,

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we lose the ability to even 
tell. 

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And so I'm learning. 
Like the slow crack of ice in 

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winter, like the stubborn green 
of early spring. 

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I'm learning to see the signs, 
the red flags, but also the 

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green shoots, the truth rising 
in the thaw. 

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I'm learning that ambiguity is 
not the enemy, it's the soil 

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where discernment grows. 
And I'm learning that Christ is 

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not a narrow perch beneath my 
feet. 

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He is a wide and steady pasture,
even when I can't see it, even 

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when it feels like I'm balancing
on the head of a needle. 

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I don't have to make him bigger.
I just have to let him show me 

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the land that was already mine. 
And I'm learning not to erase 

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myself for someone else's 
comfort, and not to erase 

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someone else for my survival. 
I'm learning to abide where he 

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builds, even as the old walls 
fall, even as the ground shakes,

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even as the ruins smoke. 
I'm learning that in the middle 

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of the breaking there is already
a new beginning. 

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Yeah.
