Glory

I have lain limp, my legs severed from beneath, being forced to the floor by the weight of loneliness. Salt tears have saturated the once dry ground that was my only source of assurance. My body has been chipped, dry, and empty while my eyes could only see the shield of darkness that suffocated me. I have felt brokeness.
He has looked down on my hopelessness and has ripped me out of the claws of defeat. He carried my shattered being and breathed life upon my soul. My fragmented remains have been placed back together, but the scars remain. I can still see the spidery lines of my split pieces, but I stand in purity.
I can dance in the light of the Artist's glory and praise Him with lifted hands, but I cannot walk on my own. I must be carried because my weakness still remains. His power will someday bring me to the gates of heaven, and I will weep at the beauty of His glory, but until then I will remain here to worship Him as He walks with me through the valleys.