The other day I referred to a dear friend as being "flawed" and thanked him for letting me see those flaws. Today thinking about dad and his flaws this is what poured out of me.
Were he still alive, he would be turning 71 this year (one month from today actually).
Beautifully
Flawed
He was a
man. He was a superhero (to me)
He’d been a
scoundrel once. For years he’d be
But he found
a way that was better—best in fact
He’d
fought—maybe killed—he never really knew
Then he’d fought
to lead a life like he never could do
Not on his
own. Oh no, that would have just been an act
One more
scene of the man among men mustering the strength
That only
led to the hollow place that filled him with so much angst
And left him
broken again, like he’d be when hope would finally find him
For
brokenness held in the hands of his Maker can be broken afresh and made anew
And that’s
what his Maker did. Broke the scoundrel he’d made of himself and remade him
true
From shards
that cut and marred, to hands that held and healed, a love-first heart began in
him
The years
that washed over the scoundrel-no-more did their work of eroding and revealing
So the
strength that once was a show for the masses—made true was a force for healing
And
scoundrels about, with their face all for show, met him and found his soul
aglow
And that
glow cast the shadows of their lives in a light, that many desired no more
And the
strength that had been wrought in the man, found just what it was for
The change,
spoken of, brought hope and desire—how? They had to know
It’s what
the Maker can do with a man, even one who is rough and raw
Take a life
cast out by the world—make it something worthy of awe
A blessing
to Him, for Him and us, though it be beautifully flawed
