I wasn’t going to write for Prosery at DVerse, but having seen that the line was from T.S. Eliot, I was interested. This week’s line is from The Waste Land: “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?”
Her life was destroyed. Hopeless. Over. Her love-starved heart still beat weakly, as anger ate her from the inside out. Death stared her in the face with his bleak, lightless eyes as she waited for him to take her. How long would she continue to be tortured?
She was done. But the all-loving One wasn’t. She was grateful at first, then angry, that He intervened, as the path continued to be rocky and seemingly barren. “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?” she often wondered. Slowly, nourished by His very Body and Blood, she began to heal, having her eyes opened to see small, persistent signs of life pushing their way toward the heavenly sunlight.