The Mirror and the Flame

They say God made us
mirrors of a holy light—
yet in the glass,
I see cracks,
lines tracing histories untold.
Scars etched by time,
each one a story
of breaking and mending.

"How can this be divine?"
I ask the empty room.
The silence holds its breath,
and I am left
with the weight of my reflection.
It is not flawless—
but neither is it false.

The ancients spoke of the fire within,
a flicker of God’s eternal flame.
I feel it faint,
fighting beneath the ash,
its glow hidden
by doubts that gather like clouds.

Yet still, it burns.
Not in the brilliance of noon,
but in the quiet persistence
of a candle in the dark.
A whisper of warmth
that refuses to yield
to the chill of despair.

The lines on my face—
are they not maps?
Paths through shadowed valleys,
over windswept peaks,
leading me closer to the heart
of the One who placed them there.
Each scar a testimony,
not of defeat,
but of endurance.

For God does not craft perfection
as the world sees it.
He weaves strength
into the broken places,
grace into the gaps,
turning jagged edges
into the latticework of His design.

The mirror lies,
or perhaps,
it tells a truth too vast for me to hold.
For in its depths,
I see not just myself,
but the flicker of the holy flame,
a reflection of the infinite.

"Let the light shine," He says,
"Not as the sun,
but as you are—
a fractured lamp
through which My love pours freely."
And in the cracks,
His glory finds a way.

So I stand before the mirror,
the flame steady now,
and I whisper,
"Thank You for the scars,
for they remind me
that You are here,
making beauty
from all that is broken."

And the light shines on,
not perfect,
but perfect in His hands.
The image remains,
holy and whole,
though I see it only
in glimpses.
It is enough.

"So God created mankind in His own image, in the image of God He created them; male and female He created them."—Genesis 1:27

© R Gordon Zyne