Sharing this story of brokenness had the unexpected effect of rendering me more, not less, whole.
This has me wondering whether the gospel writers couldn't make due with the original ending of the gospel of Mark because it wasn't enough for the scandal of Jesus' rising from the dead to go untold. Perhaps the resurrection event became redemptive as it was whispered with others.
A grain of wheat alone is small, lonesome, and dry--but if she dares to expose herself to the enveloping, all-penetrating company of rich, moist, nourishing soil, she gives herself over to the possibility of growing up to new life, and eventually fulfilling her life's call to feed others from her new life.
What still remains hidden, isolated, and untold within me? What lonesome seed from my life needs to be plucked from its isolation and planted within the soft soil of my heart so it may rise up?