Sticky, Perforated People

A bottle of water spilled on a valuable booklet lying in my car. At the time, I couldn’t do anything about it, but the next day I assessed the damage. Everything was cemented together. I put my finger between a few of the pages and gingerly tried to separate them.

They ripped. They tore. It was a mess.

When I lost my stepdad, I thought about that booklet. When you care about people, the love cements them into your life. They die and their page is ripped out of your book. It isn’t clean and the other pages that were stuck get ripped too.

I have amazingly bad luck tearing perforated coupons out of newspapers and magazines. I can never tear them out perfectly into their nice predesigned rectangles. I present them to the cashier with jagged edges and bizarre organic shapes. When someone dies, I have to give him to God. I dig through my purse-life and reluctantly, slowly, painfully give the jagged-edged person, who has bits of me stuck all around the edges, over to the Great Cashier.

The only thing that helps me is believing that this is not the end. God will wipe away every tear from my eye when I see Him. He is going to actually touch my face and wipe the tears away. Then He will put all the broken and torn pieces back together.


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