Adena M'lynn's Voice

by Adena M’lynn 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...

By Adena M’lynn I’m still— meeting myself. No, not myself. Another… her. She says she’s ready to heal. I didn’t know we were all bleeding from the same vein. I thought— we were the same. God made us in His image. Right? Same sky. Same words. Happy. Truth. Lies. All spelled the same. But— her happy flinches. Her truth tastes like metal. Her lies… sound like lullabies. I thought truth was making sure someone else felt good— say it so they smile— and by gosh, that’s the gospel truth. But that gospel came from a mouth with no name. A girl who was everyone and no one. No identity— just borrowed faces. Just a dictionary written in survival. Now— we sit across from each other, passing words like they might break. Praying, maybe one day we’ll speak the same and actually mean it.