Broken Glass Words—Healing Grace

Today,

I scraped my husband’s spirit—

with sharp, broken-glass words.

Words flung too fast,

too fierce.

I saw the sting in his eyes,

the quiet retreat of a heart wearied by my edge.

He named it—

overbearing.

And he was right.

His only response was to leave the space we both shared

to shield himself from the storm of me.

We found our way back to each other,

but the wound is still bleeding

Tender.

Open.

Healing will take time.

Since his amputation,

he has fallen more times than I can bear to count.

Each stumble etches a deeper fear in me.

And fear is the root of my need to control.

And control so often wears the face of harsh words and a tightened grip.

I see him try to do something risky,

and before I think,

I try to stop him.

My instinct isn’t love—

it’s panic, dressed as protection.

Later,

the Holy Spirit whispered into the hollow space inside me:

“How long will you keep doing this?

When will you let go of the fear that’s so easily entangles your heart

and trust Me?”

We are fragile people

in a fragile world.

And I must learn—

again and again—

to bridle my tongue,

lest I crush what is already delicate.

From fear,

from control,

from the illusion that I am the protector—God deliver me.

I pray the wound I inflicted on JD

will heal with Your grace,

with speed.

And I pray, too,

that You would begin Your healing work in me.