Restore

A flood toppled the statue. The river rose and cut deep and loosened the roots. It had been anchored so securely to ground that can be moved by water. And it fell. Not slowly, but like an avalanche, taking everything it could with it. It broke when it fell, into seven pieces or a thousand. It doesn't matter how many, there was no symbolism in its collapse, just a shake of the ground and regret.

A superhero tried to fix it. All pushing and pulling and mixing of mortar was fruitless. It stayed fallen. It remained shattered. 

The superhero leaned in and tried harder. The statue just stayed broken. The superhero brought in friends and wisdom and books that say things, important things. But none of that lifted the statue. 

So the superhero wept, great tears of exasperation and woe, brought to an end only by the feeling of a still small touch and then another. The statue had moved. It placed a hand, severed and battered, upon the hero's back to straightened it. The hero stood. 

The statue repaired the hero's sandals, cape, even the mask with eye-holes and fire painted on the side. Reaching from the dust and wreckage, the statue moved purposefully, like a mountain being thrown into the sea, bringing life to dead places. The hero was the one being restored. 

Man moves marble and stone. God moves heart and flesh and us.

I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. Ezekial 36:26