Decency For Favor

She died to live by a set of rules.

She remembered her mother and how she would exhibit delight as she sat and rested her eyes in the early morning quietness. Peace and contentment ruled her demeanor, even on days when no one told her how nice her hair looked. But that was Momma, always radiant and never ashamed. Oh, how she missed her and the life of her spirit.

The new pace of the city and the busyness she would grow to detest were her newest companions, despite their tendency to betray the damage she tried to keep secret. She lived an exhausting and absurdly self-centered life, doing all she could to collect hi-fives and nods of approval. Her means were crooked and pretentious but justified by her idea of survival. Strategizing by day and editing by night, she devised schemes to peek into the minds of others in hopes of catching a glimpse of happiness through their eyes.

Their words were nice, when they were nice. And when they weren’t, she would not rest until she was tired of not knowing why. So she did all she could for the sweet words, and even used deceit to obtain her daily bread that would become like gravel in her mouth, threatening to choke her body and soul.

After a hard day’s work, she received, at best, a couple instant and passing pats on the back. Even the art of “smiling with your eyes” she failed to master, and one more question about if she was feeling okay or if the lights were too bright was reason enough to give up the practice altogether.

After years and tears spent on this endless endeavor, she found herself filled with hollow disappointment. She wanted a greater reward than this. She wanted to hear something that would make her smile from the inside out and light up her entire being.

“...like Momma did.”

Looking to the hills, she sat in the silence and cried out from her darkness until daybreak.

She died to living by a set of rules.

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, 

A broken and contrite heart - 

These, O God, You will not despise.

Psalm 51:17

Ready... Set... Do It Again.

What a day. What a week.

Did I do it well? Who clapped? That means they loved me, right? 

Stamp of approval...anybody, anybody? 

Think, think. What else can I present that will be accepted? 

Hopefully, it'll bring some temporary assurance that I am, too. 

Running low on that stuff.

Is anyone keeping track of my awesome moments? 

Surely, they're worth something. 

Dog-tired and ready to get some sleep. 

I hope it's sweet and sound. Lots to do tomorrow! 

Come to think of it, I better run thru those things in my head - 

Just a quick rehearsal to make sure I get them right. 

*Perfect* would be ideal, actually. 

But I'll do what I can, and then wish I had done better. 

Am I talking to myself again? 

Fantastic. 

Now what will they thing of me? 

The party never stops, but who's actually coming?

Truest and Most Faithful

Thank You, thank You, thank You for treasures in the darkest nights.

Only one of us needs to know what's going on. And You are sooo that one. 
Because it was You who saw me and loved me just as I was - weak and wounded, anxious and much afraid. You met me then, and You meet me now with breaths of fresh air and gentle kisses on every tear. Fully intentional and completely devoted to reviving my spirit and loving my soul, You are my great God!
Thank You, thank You, thank You, my sweet and steady Friend.


I will give you the treasures of darkness 
And hidden riches of secret places, 
That you may know that I, the Lord,
Who call you by your name, 
Am the God of Israel.
Isaiah 45:3

Prima Ballerina

In the cool of the day, the woman stood outside and filled her lungs with the fresh morning air. As the town roused from its slumber, she considered what this day would hold. Before her thought was complete, she turned to find a man standing by her side. She recognized his face, for she had seen him but a few times before he left this earth. He stood tall and strong, his face like warrior – steady and resolute.

“The girl,” she thought to herself.

His did not meet her eyes, and he needn’t say a word, for she knew the purpose of his presence.

She whispered to him, “The girl?” 

No reply. 

She followed the man’s line of vision and saw her there. She was walking up the quiet street to meet the woman, as she did every other morning. Longtime friends and confidants, age was no factor for these ladies. Love and trust had bonded the two through years of laughter and tears, mutual disinterests and unabating aches to be seen and loved. Lately, the girl's sorrow ran deep. Even so, the woman saw a flickering flame of hope fighting to shine through the heaps of suffering and loss that crowded her heart.

As the girl reached the front porch, they locked eyes. The woman looked to the patient man, then back at her unsuspecting friend. She fought back tears and cleared her throat.

“He’s here.”

The girl’s beautiful brown eyes widened as she leaned forward to hear again, more clearly this time. The woman realized that hers were the only eyes that could see.

“Your father. He’s standing right here.”

The girl did not say a word. And though she could not see him, she believed.

And they danced.

  

Replacing her scarlet dress, he clothed his precious one in a white satin gown adorned with amethysts, sapphires, and rubies. His gaze was unfaltering, beholding the beauty before him: elegant and poised, innocent and virtuous, beloved daughter in whom he was well-pleased. 

The man gently led his daughter with his fingertips. The energy that flowed through his veins was the favor that carried her soul and strengthened her bones to dance with excellent finesse. Her heart was as light as her feet. Love was her celebration as she danced to the song of freedom in the presence of her father.

The woman could not separate her gaze from the prized ballerina. Her face radiated the love of her unseen father, leaving the woman eager to know its source, just as the brilliant moon created a relentless yearning to know the sun, night after night.

Comforted by her God, the woman knew that one day the girl would be able to see for herself. For, by now, the girl had believed. Yes, soon she’d be fully convinced.

~~~~~~~~~~  

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; 

You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness.

Psalm 30:11

Lilies and Sparrows

I will not worry about where I'll live or who I'll meet, 

Neither what I'll put on my head or feet.

I won't be concerned about drink or food, 

Or if the people staring are nice or rude. 

For it's petty things and lies I've bought 

That fade and rob each second, each thought.

And when I perceive such quiet nights, 

I'll call on the One who for me fights.

No one I know speaks like You.

No one loves, no one laughs, 

No one thinks like You.

No one I know gives like You.

No one heals, no one hopes, 

No one wins like You.

This is my Beloved, and this is my Friend.