It is the sound of tears falling,
Steadily, uncontrollably, but consciously;
It is a weeping, not just on the outside, and not just of grief.
It is a mixture of broken pieces,
Inside out and nothing left to hide – emptied out;
Every shard a testimony of grace and gratitude long sought.
It is the sight that greets the light of truth;
A revelation of the greatest need not known, and an unsightly mess.
Leaving behind a message impossible to communicate with words alone.
It springs from a depth that can’t be touched,
Rising like incense with a force that can’t be stopped,
Furnished by a conviction that can’t be taught or bought.
Yea, it seems the most fragrant worship comes from broken vessels;
A fragrance birthed from knowledge of pain in varying shades,
And an experience of inexplicable favour suddenly bestowed.