It was like quick sand, with every move
I would sink even deeper
and it squeezing ever tighter
until it was up to my chest.
Making it harder and harder to breath.I’m fine. It’s hard, but I’m okay.
Please, just let me be.
Leave me to suffer this. This is my penance.
Let me pay for it.
This is how it has to be. There must be a punishment.
If you only knew what I’ve done,
what I am capable of.
Maybe its better, if I am just swallowed whole by the quicksand of my shame.
Maybe, I can escape it that way.I believed the fear, loneliness, and self loathing.
But I am a mother.
Maybe, for my marriage, I’ll let someone throw me a rope.
Maybe, for my kids, I’ll hold on to it tight.
Maybe, for my family, I’ll be still.
Because of that love, I lifted my gaze.
Just for a moment, away from my shame,
and up towards help.
What I found waiting there was not punishment.
(No matter how much I insisted I deserve it.)
What I saw was Mercy.
More than enough to cover my shame.
More than enough to cover the pain I’ve caused.
More than enough to cover my own pain.
That mercy was for me.
Not me as mother,
not me as wife,
not me as daughter.
As one who holds the breath of God inside my lungs
As one who knows the creativity of God inside my womb
As one who beholds the face of God in you.
That mercy is for me.
That mercy is for you.