I am broken.
I stumble and fall.
I face regret.
and somehow, you call to me.
you tell me that I have a place in your story.
you have a purpose for my life.
and I wait, quietly, bringing nothing but what I am.
longing simply to know that I am loved, not forgotten, valuable in the eyes of my Father.
My heart is crying.
I am beginning to hear the depths of the cry, beginning to believe that my Father may hear my cries, too. Perhaps He will come and wipe away my tears.
Perhaps the story of me is still waiting to be told.