Bones

The skin of her jaw was pulled so tight that I could see the pores in her bones. Her eyes were big and scared and so was her hair. She slouched like she was trying to be a man, but she was too beautiful to pull it off. I could tell she was running. Running from something very unfamiliar to me, but I am sure it was very familiar to her. Her brown leather shoes were warn thin, it seemed as if she'd been running all her life.

She reminded me of my sister because of the way my sister views life. She has had one of the shittyest lives of anyone I know. And yet she still trudges on. Holding on to some small string of hope that is my very tall, very thin nephew. And of course, my heart aches for her. And I have nothing to say. Nothing to offer either of them. I want to give them Jesus, but that seems so committal. And when life gets hard again for them, and they look to me and blame my blameless God, what do I say? It just seems so unfair to me.

My Jesus doesn't save me from things that happen in life. He cushions it a little, he helps me learn, he comforts me. Sometimes. Sometimes the heart aches and its stays there in that empty place, seemingly all by its self. But I know that he is there, waiting in the darkness with me. I don't know how to explain that to two women who just want to be rescued. I suppose it isn't up to me how they respond to life slapping them this way and that. I suppose it's up to the one who made them, the one who is trying to write redemption on thier bones.