Fragile. Like the costly alabaster jar broken at His feet.

Like the rickety contraption lowering the cripple through the roof.

Like the woman crawling through the crowd for her healing.

Fragile.

Like the tears of two sisters for their brother who didn't have to die.

Like the nakedness of the man in chained torment of his mind.

Like the interrupted desperate plea from a Centurion for his deathly ill daughter.

Fragile.

Like the dull ache of a lifelong thorn in the side.

Like the embers of passion and calling being fanned into flame.

Like the vapor of dreams dissolved.

Fragile.

Like the hope for a Messiah shattered by the strikes of a hammer on a hillside cross.

Like the silence of the Saturday that sealed the tomb more tightly than the stone door.

Like the gasps of fear and hope in discovering an empty grave.

Fragile.

Like the tentative faith of a hand outstretched to feel the scars.

Like the can't-believe-my-eyes belief in a resurrected Savior.

Like the obedience to follow transformed into an obedience to go.

Fragile.

Like my (in)ability to find words and use them well.

Like the fears, uncertainties, and loneliness of my sojourning soul.

Like the weight of self-discovery: momentary mirror glimpses of who I really am and how far I have to go.

Fragile.

Is my heart.

Asking Him

and you

to hold her gently.