Her life’s outer story was forged in tragic pain,
Fueled by self-protection and what crumbs she can gain.
“Why would I turn to God? Where was He years ago?
I can protect my heart! Him? No desire to know.”

What happens to a heart, when God we turn away?
The Maker of our heart, from Him we run and stray?
Does she dare to run from the Maker of her soul?
Is it still possible that she can be made whole?

Her heart’s outer layer, like rock, will turn to crust.
What could have been soft flesh, turns to reddish-brown rust,
Harder and harder still, like a castle’s stone wall.
Neither moat nor a bridge, her heart draped, a black pall.

Her heart’s inner workings, what should have teamed with life,
Roils with inner outrage, clever in making strife.
Her anger eats away, makes a hollow vacuum.
No Son, no light softens, her heart makes her own doom.

An Innocent’s cruel death can break the outer crust.
His sacrificial love, her heart she can entrust.
Cleansing out arrogance, a renewed heart He’ll give,
Out of the tombs of death, that she might truly live.