The Pieces at the Table

They sip their tea and talk of cracks, Of broken roads and past attacks, But what they see a fractured frame, Is only part of my true name. Invite me close, I’ll pull a chair, To lay my story open bare. Let me show you piece by piece, How pain gave way to sweet release. For what you call a shattered past, Was crafted, mended, built to last. And every scar that I’ve endured, Was softened, healed, and reassured. So here’s my story, steeped in grace, Of brokenness and warm embrace, And if you’ll listen, you will see, The beauty God has made of me.