Part of the Hear Him Louder Essay Series: Kim’s Story
My heart sank as I scrutinized the drawing in my lap. “Lord, can I be any more broken?” This soul-care retreat should have been a recipe for rejuvenation. Instead, there I sat, beyond mending, like an egg’s shattered shell.
My downward slump began with the first assignment. Asked to draw a giant egg on paper and fill it with illustrations of significant life events, I crafted what I believed to be the perfect egg for the job.
That is until each woman took a turn sharing their story. It was apparent my egg was a bit odd and out of place. Where theirs displayed images of interactions with significant people in their past, mine held symbols of deeply shattered connections or disjointed memories.
When my turn to share arrived, I opened my mouth and out tumbled an equally disordered tale. The group nodded as the leader inquired, “Did you find her story a bit confusing?” The knot in my stomach grew. Like Humpty Dumpty after his fall, it seemed even a professional shell restoration team would have trouble piecing together my cracked mess.
This post was originally published as part of the Hear Him Louder essay series. To read the full story, visit Marnie Hammar’s blog here.
