Weak Tree.

An old spoken word of mine.
A small thing, really.
Maybe, if you relate,

you won't feel so alone.

insecurity

I am a weak tree

Easily bruised and swaying with the wind

Falling so often like a baby still learning its steps

Stabbed by words so easily

Blushing, crying, thinking, hiding

Wanting to wallow in my hurt

Struggling to erase those piercing words said so long ago,

But written on my insides

And I can’t, not on my own

I can’t

Overcome my insecurity.

But the Lord says to me,

“You.

You are mine.

I clothe you with strength and dignity

and you can laugh at the days to come.

I am with you, daughter.

Feel my hands holding you.

Feel my love.

I made you.

I made you this way for a purpose.

I am catching your tears.

You are precious and honored in my sight,

and I love you.”

I am a weak tree,

But I am surrounded, held, and healed

By the strong wind,

By the lover of my soul.