Raiment

Wrapped in shimmering rainbows. Cloaked in promises. Vivid colours, layer upon layer they reach to the ground. I'm opening my eyes again, dwelling on them. Pulling them closer and letting the silken threads rustle as I walk. Because when I forget what I am clothed in. I shuffle and falter and my eyes grow dim and I start to dwell upon what hasn't happened. But when I remember and my fingers grasp the hope spun material that wraps me my heart rises up within me and I stand tall. The warmth of these garments, all encompassing and shining. They are what he has robed me in, a sign of my daughterhood. And they strengthen me, they embolden me. For though others may not see them. I know they are there. And when the hard light of days that are long and tiresome cause me to feel ragged and exposed, I will pull tight around my shoulders the mantle that speaks authority. And I will look in the mirror. And see what he has tailored for me. Because these garments speak to who I am. And they are mine. Sewn from wool as white as snow. Princely blood upon them. Sparkling with love.

Forty Four

And He. He keeps talking. With signs that point and beckon, lighting the path. They are awe inspiring in their frequency yet intricate, woven amongst the days I live like thread that holds everything together. And like a beacon they shed light on previously unseen clues and I marvel at them with excited wonder. It is tantalizing as the process is not fast. And on the journey at times my heart droops with hopes seemingly deferred and the signs seem to mock my heart and it's glorious dreams because look at you. You broken vessel.
 But he keeps saying it. Faithful. That is what you are. Yet faithfulness is his purest essence and mine is fickle and faltering. How do His eyes see veins of gold. Can it be he sees the heart that desires truth in the inmost parts, that he sees the attempts and intentions and he weighs it up and it is not found wanting because even when the desires do not exceed the struggle they are still golden for just being. It must be. So I take hold again of the fact that he has faith in me. But not only that. He is with me. Despite the failing. He is there, more constant than anyone I have ever known.  And I lift my eyes again and there is 44 signalling, and I take a step and see 55 around the bend. And he laughs: 'Grace abundant for you my beloved daughter, fear is no match for your brave heart. And we shall go on together.'

Alighting Joy

I lit up joy tonight. Walking into my room I turned to the comforting flicker of a candle. And as I held the match to the wick I realized that unintentionally I was lighting up joy; because written across the glass that encased it was that word. Joy. And I smiled, a little ironically as that was the last thing I was feeling. But one can light it. One can keep it burning. One can intentionally choose it when it really seems so far out of grasp. Because this presence we worship. He is joy in all it's fullness and he melts away burdens with his laugh over us. And he is ever ready to burst into flame within our hearts and flood them with his lightness.

Honeysuckle

The wild scented harvest from my walk yesterday.

Treasure

 There are many sweet things about life but it is not all sweetness. And when pain swells and every little glance makes you cringe inside it can overwhelm.  When all that is looked on is what you haven't done and what you should do and not who you are. And though it comes from good hearts and is done for the best intentions it still pierces. Because by saying you are what you do you are saying I am not enough. I am not blind to my own imperfections. And eyes can glance only so far and not see the deep places. Where the hope has been dashed and the battlements have taken much beating. But where deep down a treasure is shining. For though the dark one may try to rob he can never steal the light. Of the glistening life within. And faithfulness is a treasure of value to the Father King.

Unraveling

 I sat down at my piano last night. And an hour and a half later I came in and somehow I couldn't really give an account of that time except it felt that as I played and words fell out of my mouth, that clarity seemed to unravel before me and re-thread thoughts together. The underlying tumult of the last few months seemed to calm itself as my mind followed in the way of the truthful one. Because in the presence of one who adores you things start to feel possible again. As I gave myself over to his process I could start to see the light that it would bring, that even though we wander sometimes the light is always there and he will come again and renew our eyes so we can see it.

Grace Upon Grace

One can not linger forever in the mire of hopelessness when right next to you is one whose hope over you is never ending. Over and over again he calls us. Up! And out! And we try and we sometimes stumble and he stoops and he pulls and gently lifts. And we see his beauty and he looks at us and we hide because we feel so grimy. But he says: 'No. Your brokenness does not define you. What defines you is me. Will you let me help you?' And brokenness is beautiful when he comes and breathes his life and what was broken is renewed and restored and grace shines radiantly upon us. Because where grace rests, he is.