History

Emily L. BainEmily L. Bain

I’m a girl without a history.Oh yes, such a strange sight indeed.I’m the oe who fell through the cracks,the one always present but never perceived.

My family was cozy.it was just us three.

and only cared when I fell down the stairs.

Neither side truely knew the definition of love:one only existed to control, the other to complain.

So just us three: daddy, mommy, and me.No family past that, only the ones who didn't care.

Aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins—no terms of endearment there.

And as such, holidays were rather bare.

My best friend broke up with me to"Play with other people"right there on the playground in front of everybody.

So I merely walked the perimeter,inspected nature, thought;

then a teacher yelled at mefor not having any friends,as if it were all my fault.

I always went to church,and every Sunday morning, people were truly nicesince the same ones introduced themselves,then disappeared without another word.

It's not for a lack of trying—oh no!Things just fell apart every time:I was the anti�social,according to all those jealousand selfish people.I was thrown away when somwthingmore interesting appearedand condemned for being weird.Then picked back up againwith a smiling apologyonly to satisfy a brief and fleeting need.

Worthless. Loveless.That’s all I was to them.And I moved on and on and on and on untilI had no history.

My companions were books, films, pets, trees—and most of all my little family of three.

I suppose I could make it three:my mom, my dog, and me?

That’s what you’d call a dysfunctional family.

Yet cancer struck, leaving only two.What good is that?No loving circle there.

Foundations are funny things.Without them, people fall apart.No hand. No smile.Just condemnation.Because it’s always, obviously my fault.My sin caused a deaththe end, it’s over, finished.How dare I ask for love, mercy grace!Didn’t I hear? I’m worthless.

I was just a cosmic mistake,taking someone else's place who really mattered

who really deserved that love.

Shattered pieces scatter, impossible to recreate—vague, disjointed memories and desires;identity is lost.Life must not be so preciousif wasted on a vile soul such as mine.

All my life people quoted John 3:16,“For God so loved the world” through gritted teeth.

Immature belief of no love for the worthless, broken, scarred,only for the perfect, abstaining few

who commanded God to not touch the marred.After all, how could

One so great, so mighty, so awesome and wonderfuleven notice an insignificant blip like me?

I was too horrible, too repulsive, too drab and abominableto deserve that precious love reserved only for a few.

Yet identity was found,even in that dark abyssbecause just one star shinedwhen the sky was inky black.Arms reached down and held me,drawing my brokennessinto an intimate embrace.

He whispered that I'm worth it—all he ever did,that I was even designed

with such a greater purpose in mindbefore I breathed, before the world existed.

He knew everything I would do, how broken I would be,and still then, He created me.

I’m the daughter of a king, an heir, part of a family.He, my closest friend, gave me my history.

FinFin