Blog: Holes

Andrew Byers, writer for InterVarsity Press, says life can bring us to the point where we need to shout, and thankfully that we have a God who is big enough and loves us enough to let us shout, even when and especially when we shout at Him. As a Korean American Adoptee, there was a time when I was struggling with my identity and felt lost to the point that I cursed at the hand I had been dealt.

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This poem is part testimony and part message to express how God is healing the brokenness in my life, and redeeming those places of anger and pride. I want to preface that I wrote it during a dark time when God was the last person I wanted to talk to but was (and still is) the one I need most.

Since writing it, I have come to know deeper and more fully His grace. I have experienced that His grace is available no matter how broken, how angry, how tired we get, that God isn’t interested in only our best, but loves us and seeks us recklessly, even at—especially at our worst. There is never a point when we are too broken for God’s love.

I am so thankful for His grace and love, and I hope that this poem can be encouraging to you.


Holes.


This hole I was given is a permanent scar
They told me it’s a mark of redemption,
But to me, it’s a reminder of how broken we really are.

That someone could leave their child alone,
To be told his whole life that it’s all “part of a plan.”
Written by man who sits on the throne.

Apparently, the plan is to not belong in any place,
And be told day after day
“You were made to be a whole”, but feel like W was taken away.

Because when they say “beloved child,” what I hear is charity case.
Being told constantly how my life is an example of amazing grace,
So “lucky” and “blessed” to be rescued by a savior race
Not knowing their words are just perpetuating self-hate,
Being saved orphan leaves no room for saving face.

So I did my best to cope, to culturally adapt
Facing every obstacle successfully, saying, “yeah, I can do that”
But while my name shined bright, the hole was still black,
Consuming all light, a true darkness that soaked in
A reminder no matter how good I appear, I will forever be broken,

Missing some part, like a toy marked defective
Being told that “You were chosen,” but feeling universally rejected.
Given no instruction manual from birth, no guide for repairs,
Left looking at similar models, doing my best to compare.

Small eyes? Check.
Black hair? Check.
Internalized self-worthlessness that teaches you to turn off the part of your heart that cares?   
Oh, that’s a “unique feature” I guess,

But in the few still moments, when no one else can see.
I always wound up crying, begging on my knees
Praying through tears, hoping he hears.
But the only answer I ever got was silence.

God, why did you make me like this?
Why didn’t she want me? Why am I not good enough?
Why is it that no matter how hard I try, I don’t feel “His love?”

If I’m too broken fine, they don’t have to tell me anymore, I know.
But I never asked to be this. It wasn’t me that made the first hole.
…and then silence broke, shouted like whisper right through the hole in my heart.

My son.
If you knew how much I love you.
Look down at my hands and feet; I've got holes too.

These holes weren’t my choice either.
I know heartbreak, rejection, pain. I’ve felt it.
Not so I could out-do you, but give back all that those lies have taken away from who you are.

This one truth:
“You are my child, and I love you.”

-- D. Bliss