The One Who Knew Me Best

by Adena M’lynn

Woman with short hair wearing jeans in a fragmented paint

The one who knew me the best

didn’t know me at all.

They memorized my smile,

but not the storm behind it.

They held my hand,

but never the weight of my heart.


So where do I place

the trust that cracked in their grip?


Where do I store the hope

that keeps slipping through human fingers?





Where do I bury the failures

that scream louder than victories?

Where do I hide the disappointments

that bruise deeper than fists?

Where do I speak the disbeliefs

that choke me in silence?


I place them in God.

Not in broken promises,

not in shaky voices

that swear they’ll never leave—

but in the One who never has.


I set them down at His feet,

every jagged piece,

every shadow I tried to outrun.

He doesn’t flinch at the mess,

doesn’t turn away at the stench

of mistakes and missteps.

He kneels closer.

He gathers them.

He redeems them.


The one who knew me the best

didn’t know me at all—

but my Father in heaven,

He knew me before I knew myself.

He saw the dust in me,

and still breathed life.

He saw the cracks in me,

and still called me whole.


So I will trust in Him.

I will hope in Him.

I will fail forward into His mercy.

I will lift my disappointments

like an offering

and let Him write redemption

across every disbelief.


Because the One who knew me first

is the One who knows me still—

and in Him,

I am known completely.

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