Broken

Taken from 'In Her Own Special Voice'
written by: P.S. Ferguson


By way of introduction, this is the first poem that came to me for this new project. I wanted to share some of the initial thoughts that settled in my spirit surrounding how it came to be.

A few years back, my mother and I were spending some time with Wendy, working on a presentation for the church. We spent a couple hours together, chatting back and forth. Actually, we were asking questions, and she was searching on her Blissboard for symbols that might actually present the answers she was looking for. Throughout this process, I had been talking to Wendy about worship, about how she thinks God feels, about how she feels in relation to her worship of God. 

More about the Bliss Symbol language

Her answer was 'I'm sorry'. 

After many 'yes and no' questions trying to get down to the meaning behind her choice, it was clear that she felt that because she could not stand with the congregation, because she could not raise her hands in worship during the singing, because she could not sing.......she felt her worship was less than what God deserved. 

It truly was one of the most monumental moments of my life, hitting me very hard. To know Wendy is to know someone who loves God. She loves worship. You can see it in her during every worship service she's ever been in. I just expected that she understood how precious she was to God.

It showed me that we are all the same. We are just simply broken people, coming as we are, however we get there, to the foot of the cross. 
This poem, written years after that encounter with Wendy, was written to try to convey that brokenness that Wendy has felt. That insufficiency of her own worship attempts. Half-way through writing it, came the picture of Christ on the cross, also unable to move, to worship, to stand......the Christ who completely understands hands and arms and legs that are not free to do our bidding. 

I had hoped that when Wendy, or any others like her, read the Broken poem, they would see Him. And how He understands. And how He was broken too.

Broken

When I speak, I waste no words

When I pray, I have no perfection

I am broken

My God deserves better

My arms won’t rise in worship

My legs won’t stand to revere Him

My voice cannot utter one syllable – even of halting praise

I am broken

I am not stupid or blind or deaf

I am not unfeeling

I am not careless with my emotions

I see and hear and feel

Everything

I am a woman

Simply

A broken woman

In days past

The pain was not constant

And blinding

In days past

My body’s betrayal

Was quick and jerky and spasmodic

Today

My body wars with my soul

Today

The pain screams to drown Him out

Today

My soft, fleshy heart is torn into a

Million pained pieces

In days past

My hope was in

Tomorrows

Down the road

That glorious

Someday

Today

As my angels

Have gone before me

The fragile hope is

Today

Release must be

Today

For I am broken

My body betrays me

Every waking minute

My hope is

Him

Him – who has loved me

Him – who has seen me

Him – who has carried me

Him – who cares not about voices

Him – who cares very little about flailing arms and legs

Him – who cares a great deal about my hope

I cannot speak – therefore I waste no words

My prayers are little more than noises

But my heart …my heart is Him

He is the One

Who has been broken too

He is the One

Whose arms were nailed and could not lift in praise

He is the One

Whose legs were nailed so He could not rise in reverence

He is the One

Who lost His voice when He was broken on a cross

I am broken

But He was broken too

I will continue today

To hope

I will continue today

To love

Love Him

Who loves me right back

Me and my brokenness