BROKEN VESSELS
Shards of glass lay strewn on the marble floor.
Drip.
Drip..
Drip…
The sound of crimson liquid colliding with hard surface. The once ancient vase which embodied beautiful lily is now stained red with its members scattered round in fragments. The agent responsible for this disaster lay face down on the table looking as innocent as ever. I walked towards the book I had earlier thrown and flipped it over, the first few lines I read fiercely catapulted me to a web of thoughts; bitter, dark thoughts, It encapsulated everything I was at that moment. It read "I am broken, life has broken me badly, I can't get up, my bones are shattered to bits, I won't be able to fight, I am afflicted by the guilt of my past, fractured by my mistakes, ruptured by low self-esteem, weakened by the world's view of me, I'm damaged goods, I'm down in life's pit and I can't get up".
I slowly sat on the stool with my bloodied hands which had begun to stain the white pages of the book, I turned the cover of the book and read aloud " broken vessels". Up until that time I had never come across the book, I could barely remember where I got it from or who had gifted it to me but at this point, it didn't matter, all that mattered was that someone understood my deepest pain, my frustrations and hate. It was like I had formed a bond with the book and line after line, syllable after syllable helped strengthen the bond.
It told the story of a girl who had been locked up in one of the world's notorious prisons. She had been a victim of rape, and every other form of assault your mind can conjure. She had murdered her own father and chewed his bloodied flesh bit by bit, she carried within her a well of hate and anger as a burning flame. She murdered five more men before she was eventually caught and jailed. There in the prison, she became the focus of old Maa Johnson who sought to spread the love of Christ in dark corners and hell's tomb. Her passion for the lost was so great that she devised a way to reach out to the inmates of this notorious prison. Broken, as she called herself was this old woman's first contact.
Those lines that resonated with me were the words from Broken to Maa Johnson. Nothing shook me as much as the woman's reply to her " You are like a broken vase, I know you think because you were broken by life you are not qualified to live, to be forgiven, to be saved, and to fight the enemy of anger and hate, but being broken qualifies you far more than you think. Brokeness turned you from the lady that can be played with to a dangerous weapon, you became dangerous when you were broken"
I turned my head to the shards of broken glass on the floor, I looked at my badly injured hands coated with blood and these words came alive in my heart. A smile slowly began to spread on my face as I thought on these words. Life thought it was hurting me when it broke me, what it didn't know was that it turned me into a weapon. I lifted myself up from the seat, with my head poised and screamed "Bring it on". I was a weapon now, my fears couldn't bring me down and in breaking the vase I gained freedom. I went into the kitchen, took a broom and swept out the pieces of glass before tossing it into the trash can. I muttered a word of thanks to the broken vase, in as much as I would miss it, it had taught me a vital lesson for life. I picked up the lily from the floor and planted it in another vessel and with each bloom of the flower I remembered the broken vessel.
BROKEN VESSELS
Shards of glass lay strewn on the marble floor.
Drip.
Drip..
Drip…
The sound of crimson liquid colliding with hard surface. The once ancient vase which embodied beautiful lily is now stained red with its members scattered round in fragments. The agent responsible for this disaster lay face down on the table looking as innocent as ever. I walked towards the book I had earlier thrown and flipped it over, the first few lines I read fiercely catapulted me to a web of thoughts; bitter, dark thoughts, It encapsulated everything I was at that moment. It read "I am broken, life has broken me badly, I can't get up, my bones are shattered to bits, I won't be able to fight, I am afflicted by the guilt of my past, fractured by my mistakes, ruptured by low self-esteem, weakened by the world's view of me, I'm damaged goods, I'm down in life's pit and I can't get up".
I slowly sat on the stool with my bloodied hands which had begun to stain the white pages of the book, I turned the cover of the book and read aloud " broken vessels". Up until that time I had never come across the book, I could barely remember where I got it from or who had gifted it to me but at this point, it didn't matter, all that mattered was that someone understood my deepest pain, my frustrations and hate. It was like I had formed a bond with the book and line after line, syllable after syllable helped strengthen the bond.
It told the story of a girl who had been locked up in one of the world's notorious prisons. She had been a victim of rape, and every other form of assault your mind can conjure. She had murdered her own father and chewed his bloodied flesh bit by bit, she carried within her a well of hate and anger as a burning flame. She murdered five more men before she was eventually caught and jailed. There in the prison, she became the focus of old Maa Johnson who sought to spread the love of Christ in dark corners and hell's tomb. Her passion for the lost was so great that she devised a way to reach out to the inmates of this notorious prison. Broken, as she called herself was this old woman's first contact.
Those lines that resonated with me were the words from Broken to Maa Johnson. Nothing shook me as much as the woman's reply to her " You are like a broken vase, I know you think because you were broken by life you are not qualified to live, to be forgiven, to be saved, and to fight the enemy of anger and hate, but being broken qualifies you far more than you think. Brokeness turned you from the lady that can be played with to a dangerous weapon, you became dangerous when you were broken"
I turned my head to the shards of broken glass on the floor, I looked at my badly injured hands coated with blood and these words came alive in my heart. A smile slowly began to spread on my face as I thought on these words. Life thought it was hurting me when it broke me, what it didn't know was that it turned me into a weapon. I lifted myself up from the seat, with my head poised and screamed "Bring it on". I was a weapon now, my fears couldn't bring me down and in breaking the vase I gained freedom. I went into the kitchen, took a broom and swept out the pieces of glass before tossing it into the trash can. I muttered a word of thanks to the broken vase, in as much as I would miss it, it had taught me a vital lesson for life. I picked up the lily from the floor and planted it in another vessel and with each bloom of the flower I remembered the broken vessel.
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