the beauty of it all

"you are altogether beautiful my darling, and there is no blemish in you" --song of solomon 4:7

there is this place in all women (though, through trails, pain, hurts and scars, maybe a bit more hidden in some than others) that longs to hear those words. 

most of us look at ourselves through human eyes.  eyes that are themselves scarred. defiled, blemished.

i cannot get her out of my mind.  her question, which i have now referenced several times, "are you going to die?"  her sickly and frail body. her sadness.  her fear.  her loneliness.  the young child she would leave behind.  her story, which was the same as many women's story: grew up without a father, hungry, lonely.  (thought she) found comfort, happiness in the arms of a man there. he was (HIV) positive.  he infected her, and then left her, and the unborn child, to move on to the next woman.  this was/is a pattern. i ask why.  she continue to have relationships with other men, after being positive, why she would have a relationship with a man she knew was positive.  the answer i got "they (women) don't want to die alone."  if her daddy had just stayed and held her, if he was just there to tell her she was beautiful, to laugh when she laughed, to dance with her, she would have known she was beautiful.  she would have known that she had a much greater value than any man here could (falsely) give her.  with her one question of "are you going to die" she became a part of me.  a mark on my heart.  an impression in my skin.

the shouts of glee: "mzungu!!!"  pierce my ears and heart.  the dirty, sticky hands that slip into mine--that slipped into mine.  the dirty clothes, mine and theirs.  i could tell each one of them how incredible and loved they are, everyday, all day long.  i can plead with my tone for their hearts to believe it and receive it.

full bellies, or empty bellies, all hearts are the same.  they each long to hear, to know of it's beauty.  all eyes are the same, they all want to stare in the eyes of their lover, or Lover of their souls and know they are beheld with a heart, His heart.  our skin aches to be touched.  either by one here, or by the One who hung upon a tree.

i wish so that we could break from our preoccupation with the mirror, and stare into the eyes of the One who created us, the One who does whisper, "You are altogether beautiful my darling, there is no spot in you." that we could give our hearts to others with no expectation of anything return, and know that when He fills our heart, that it can stand up under the weight of any crushing blow. that when we speak words of love to others, inspired by Him, that if they are not returned by them, they are certainly returned by Him.  that when we look upon one we love dearly, and their eyes turn from us, that His remain upon us, gazing with a burning passion, that moves Him to receive the curse meant for us.  that when we reach out to others, only to have our hands slapped away, His reach down and grasp them in His own.
that al the time we are longing to hear certain words from others, feel things from others, touch from others, He is offering those to us, with greater affect than we can imagine, if we would just rest in the truth that it is from Him that which is all we need, and nothing else compares.

i want so badly for her, whom is now etched in my heart, seared into my soul, who asked "are you going to die". i want her to know and feel the joy that is waiting for her, the love that will never leave her, the hands that were pierced just to hold her.  i want her to feel those.  i want to see her be received into the arms of Jesus, and for all her tears to be wiped away, for her sickness to be made well, and her loneliness to be cast aside as she gazes upon Him, and all else is forgotten.

abandoned by some, loved by others, adored by One

many brothers and sisters

"rejoice ye barren woman, break forth into singing and cry aloud, you who have not been in labor, for the children of the desolate one will be greater than of the children of her who is married"--isaiah 54:1

the joy of the Lord is our freedom

abandoned, yet full of love; blind but able to see her Father before her,  rarely held, but continually feeling the hands of God

"but those who hope in the Lord, will renew their strength. they will soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint" --isaiah 40:31 

rescue is coming

“to love at all is to be vulnerable. love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. if you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. but in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. it will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. to love is to be vulnerable.” --c.s. lewis