Dams

I want to find the right words. How can I when I’m not even sure I know what’s in my heart?

It feels a little flooded in there.

I wish my words flowed easily… but dams don’t break evenly.

I built this dam for protection. I’m not even sure I knew I was doing it. It served me for awhile… or so I told myself.

But the protection of anything other than God is an illusion.

I built this dam so I could live. Life outside of it felt a bit too hard. I told myself I was living… but the truth is, I was dying.

Beaver dams encourage nourishment to come and stay awhile.

That’s not how human heart dams work. Eventually we starve for community and drown in unshed tears.

Isn’t it just like me to learn lessons in the most difficult way?

Dammed-up ponds are home, solace, refuge for beavers.

Thanks be to God, I don’t need any of those. He is my refuge. He leads me beside still waters.

I no longer need this dam. Truthfully, I never did. Sometimes lessons are learned in the strangest of ways.

So, I break…

Maybe I start by pulling out just one piece at a time… you know, to test the waters a little.

Water doesn’t musically glide out of a dam at first. Sometimes it spews with such force we think we may drown. We won’t.

Sometimes it trickles or drips so infrequently that we think maybe we’re drying up. We aren’t.

Sometimes it trips and spurts over leftover pieces of a dammed-up heart. I think that’s more than okay.

We may think we’re babbling… but doesn’t a brook with rocks breaking up the water sing more beautifully?

I have to believe that God enjoys words sloshing out of a ragged heart just as much as those pouring rhythmically out of a heart that long ago burst its walls.

Both are captivating music to his ears…

Both fill His heart with love…

And isn’t it pure lavishness that His overflowing love pours right back into us…

To nourish us…

To protect us…

To overflow us back into Him.

Flow on, little brook. Broken pieces of a heart never get in the way. And sometimes, if we listen really closely, we’ll hear what God hears…

An offering poured over the altar we built with the rubble of our dams.

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Author: Karina Baker

Hello, my dear friends! Glad to see you here. Thank you for reading about my beautiful rubble - my struggles with life, faith, and autoimmunity. Feel free to share your stories in the comments. My love and prayers to all of you!

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