"An empty shell..."

“If thou could'st empty
all thyself
of self,
like to a shell dishabited,
then might He find thee
on the ocean shelf,
and say, "This is not dead..."
and fill thee with Himself instead."
― Madeleine L'Engle


an empty shell

bleached by
the salt and sun of
a storm-tossed
sea

He finds you
tossed upon the vastness of
a windswept
beach

all the half truths,
every compromise,
each word that spilled from
lips afraid to speak
the truth....

are washed to sea...

and with it,
the small frightened
creature that
hid within the
darkness of her
shiny shell

she was never you..

she was not the real substance,
she was not the beating heart,
she was not the being who would
turn that shell into
something
chosen,
precious,
treasured...

something sought out and
cherished,
held like a jewel,
used to illustrated His
sacred plan,
a metaphor of humility,
surrender,
grace...

"i feel like
an empty shell"

she whispers
in a voice more true than
who she thought she was, and
what now speaks
is free
of all she once filled with
names,
and roles,
offices and addresses,
titles and
accomplishments...

in the whispered
voice of her
sea-washed
emptiness

she sings a song
so sweet,
and
in a tone so true,
that
volume
seems
grotesque and
clumsy
coming from the
perfect
emptiness of
her
singular
truth,
her whole truth,
and
nothing
more..

she is singing
to Him,
with Him,
for Him,
sne is
singing out
from Him,
from where He
lives at the core
of her
outward
curving...
the
reaching,
growing.
expanding
chambers of
her
purest self...

and because He is
so infinitely
near...
so close...

at the very
center of what is
left...

a whisper
is
enough...

more than
enough...

for an
empty shell
to sing...

and
be chosen
by One
who
hears...

“All of it,
filling her up
like the first breath she'd ever taken.
And never had she loved life more.”
― V. Rossi