The Beauty's Beast

 He was considered ravishingly handsome; ruggedly desirable.  Nevertheless, his face soon matched the color of his soul.  A king no longer wanted; a people no longer devout.  His sins were known, but the evidence inconclusive...until his form became that of an animal.

True love would break the curse he brought upon himself.  But who could ever love a man who was a beast?

Her smile brought joy to those with sorrow.  Her words spoke hope to those without.  Her boldness ignited a charge for justice.  Nevertheless, the love of her people was borne out of hate for a man.

Could love prove to fail when asked to forgive?  Laying down arms, an impossibility, yet One interceded...implored her to lay down the knife of vengeance.

Thus begins our tale...

I am the beauty.
The protagonist,
My life gives life 
To others.
The main character
On whom the world
Surrounds their interest
And knowing how God wrote
My story.
My ears search to comfort the hurt.
My mouth longs to speak
Grace for the forgotten.
Borne out of spontaneity,
A light bursts from an uncomely form.

Who is the beast?
Wounds borne of an offense
Perpetually bleeding,
Constantly blaming
The perpetrator - 
Thought to be an ally -
To my heart's defense.
Perfection - the ideal of heaven
Until heaven is found unreachable.
Words of holiness prove not
To be His intention when words
Spoken in the wisdom of men.

Who is the beauty?
A woman who daily seeks
After the Lord's heart.
Who longs for her image
To mirror that of her King.
Her desire for her family
To become
His comely portrayal.

Confusion between wisdom
Of the secular and divine
Wrought with a dissidence.
Love only rendered
To one's face, hiding the shame
Of a growing loathing.
A beast cannot change
Unless justice meets its mark.

Love fails when it seeks 
Its own.
Truth remains unheard
When defined by the carnal.
Grace neglected when loss
Of perception stipulates chains.

If God be for me,
Then who can be against me?
Yet, I held onto my sin
By holding onto another's
Ignorance.
Wanting a change, nonetheless,
Never hoping; never believing.
Inwardly commanding
A conversation, but consequence
Would bear only embarrassment.
What love is that?

Now that I know better,
Will I heed His truth;
Will I choose to bind my wounds?
Cease to blame my soul's anemia
On a mere misunderstanding
Based in between generations?
I am not at the epicenter 
Of the world's stage.
To dictate agreement
Is to declare allegiance
To one other than the Creator.

Am I the beauty?
My speech utters words foreign
To my being.  My hands stretched
Out, tipped with daggers,
My smile deceiving.
My hatred changed my form.

At some point,
I became the antagonist.
Vengeance transformed me.
Freedom transpires 
When tenderness is extended
Without motive.
I am the beast.
The chains of my uncomely 
Form will break when I learn
To love those whose love is hidden.
When I treasure the unseen jewels;
When I seek the beauty in others
That God saw in me.

From DepositPhotos; obtained by Google Images

Am I Woman Enough?

   

  Looking at my body, I know I am female.  I am a woman.  But when I look in the mirror, I see more than just the curves of my hips or my breasts laying limp.  I also see the muscular build to my shoulders, marking that I carry a strength more than some women.  When I look in the mirror, I am reminded of the moments I have gotten dolled up.  Wearing a dress, and recently make-up for a wedding, I know that I can look hot.  But when I look in the mirror, I am also reminded of the many hours I dress in preparation to get filthy on a construction site.  Or my skin glistens with sweat after exerting my body for sport.  I am not dainty.  Never have been.  I have a feeling; I never will be.  Even when I become glamorous, I make sure I wear a pair of shorts, because…well, you never know when you gotta get ready for some action.  Looking in the mirror, I am not your typical woman.  So, do I lack femininity?      Born a female, I never wanted to be a boy.  I just liked things - and still do - that typically boys/men like.  And when I hung out with my male cousins as a kid, it was because they were involved in things, I liked compared to what the girls wanted to do.  I never thought this was weird.  Frankly, my parents didn’t either.  I mean, my dad has said that he raised me like a son.  But that wasn’t because he was wishing I was a boy.  He understood that, as a kid, I liked to do things boys typically did, and he was okay with that.  I didn’t have to play with dolls; I could like sports.  I didn’t have to learn to cook; I could work with tools if I wanted to.  And that was okay.     Until middle school.  Then another mother figure came into my life.  And this woman - though, she may have had the best intentions - identified my behavior as something uncomely for girls.  First, she stuck to the opinion that I hung out with the boys, because I had a crush on one of my cousins.  But throughout my maturation, comments of how I should wear dresses more often, or that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach have lingered in the air.  I have forgiven her for many of her other past transgressions.  However, now, this is what I hold onto.  Because, frankly, it isn’t the past.  It is the present.  Though I have become a woman, and though on the contrary to my adolescent self, wearing dresses, it still isn’t enough.     “You look so good in a dress.  You should wear dresses more often.”     Dresses aren’t considered a big deal.  Even in most Christian circles, if someone dresses up, it is noticed, the person is complimented, and people move on.  But, in the case of women who grew up tomboys, wearing a dress is almost like seeing a wild animal in its natural element.  No…it’s not like that at all.  From the perspective of the viewer, that may be the case.  But for the “animal”, a woman can wonder what the big deal is.  After all, as a woman, if I want to wear a dress when I want to, why does the paparazzi suddenly have to be notified?     But that isn’t the question, is it?  The question, rather, is, “Why don’t I wear dresses more often?”     And why should I?  Honestly, in the whole of what goes on in my life, when is a dress appropriate to wear?  At work, it is inconducive.  I need to be on the floor with students, able to move quickly in case of an emergency.  In sports, a dress would make me reveal things unneeded to become public.  Any physical labor would ruin such a beautiful outfit.  Oh wait.  Maybe I should wear dresses every Sunday.  That’s what my other mother figure does.     Ironically, my own mother never questioned my femininity.  Nevertheless, this other woman did.  Maybe she was afraid I would fall into some grave sin by doing things that boys do.  Maybe what she was really trying to do was to teach me life skills that she knew.  But the emphasis on my appearance was more than overbearing.  It was a burdensome weight.  Because it wasn’t just the outfits, but the behavior that needed to be accompanied.  Never married, but maybe I will not make a typical bride.  And sometimes I wonder if that is okay.     Am I okay as a woman if I am not a woman like others?     When I wear a dress, there is no need to tell me I should wear them more often.  I have been a woman since I was 18 years old, and I have been feminine since I was born.  I wish I could stop being put in a box of what I should be, as a girl.  I know I don’t live up to standards of what a woman “should” be.  As I have grown, it seemed like there was always something to fix.  The comments make my worth determined based on what I wear.  I wish, as a woman, my femininity wasn’t constantly evaluated by my interests, activities, and dress.  Why when I didn’t fit the stereotype I was joked at, mocked, or criticized?     As a result of these comments and “compliments”, I have questioned whether I had any hint of femininity.  Because I didn’t fit into some boxes.  Ironically, not many people question my womanhood.  But the one voice that speaks to my gender, and negatively so, is the voice that is constantly inside my head.  I wasn’t created to be like my other cousins.  I was created to be me: Laura Emily Hall.  I don’t think I’ve ever been called beautiful, as a statement.  No, there usually has to be a tagline.  I’m beautiful, and will continue to be, if I just ________________.  I’m tired of the bullshit.  The comment has the opposite effect. To tell me I should wear dresses more often, when I have already been, actually makes me want to never put a dress on ever. Or at least, around this person. Sigh...But I don’t know when…when this person is going to see it.     My confidence in my sexuality has been depleted, because I didn’t think I am woman enough for a man.  I have believed that I better wear something different or act different or display a different hobby than what I’m actually interested in, if I want to attract a man.  So much for personality.  So much for character.  So much for just being myself.  So much for my smile.  After all, that is the feature about me that I like the most.  And my freckles.  But if I wore make-up, those lovely spots on my face would be covered.     Am I good enough?  Because when I look in the mirror, I don’t see masculine.  I do see feminine.  Because I am a woman.  I know with the discussion on transgenderism*, there is a lot of commentary on what masculinity vs. femininity is, and frankly, I don’t have it all figured out.  However, I am seeing way more evidence that the Western world, and unfortunately, the Church as well, determines gender based on stereotypes and roles, rather than the matter that someone is born male or female.  I know that clothing is an extension of gender, but anytime I’ve worn men’s clothes, it was because it was more functional (i.e., comfortable, affordable, and available) than the idea of me trying to become less of a woman.     Yes, I grew up a tomboy.  A girl who did typical boy things.  But that didn’t equate to me wanting to be a boy.  (And sidenote, when people say a girl who wanted to be a boy, thereby dressing and naming themselves as a boy, then becoming a girl again is not coming out of a tomboy phase.  She was coming out of a boy phase.  Tomboys are girls who like stereotypical boy things.  Doesn’t mean they actually want to be a boy.) I was always a girl and wanted to be a girl.  I just was a girl who didn’t want to be dainty.  Because the adventures I wanted to have required shorts and T-shirts, not aprons.       I know I need to let this go.  I need to forgive the person who is at fault for me questioning my worth as a woman.  However, like many other forgiveness issues I’ve had, I struggle with letting it go without the promise of any change.  If I sit long enough in the hurt, tears come.  Waiting longer, anger brews.  Because I wonder, why am I never enough?  Will I ever be enough?     I don’t mean to balk at wisdom.  I don’t mean to claim that I can just be myself and never require change for anything in my personality.  As Christians, we are daily living out a transformation from a personality of sin to a personality of holiness.  Nevertheless, God created us uniquely.  So, why wouldn’t we consider that?  I am still searching what it means (if we need it black and white) to be feminine vs. masculine.  But often I find that I’m told to be prepared for every work that God puts before me.  I am learning how to listen to what God says about me instead of what tradition dictates.  Even if it is church tradition.  Because, anytime the church defines a doctrine that is based more in society than in the Bible, then we as Christians need to give room to question it.     I don’t know how to respond to this other mother.  Every time she makes a comment about how I should wear dresses, I smile and say meekly, “But I do wear dresses.”  However, inwardly, I really want to rail her in.  Give her a piece of my mind.   But, in the quiet sorrows of my mind, I hear the Holy Spirit say, “Giving a taste of her own medicine is not godly.”  Furthermore, I’m supposed to extend mercy, even though she doesn’t deserve it.  But what would mercy be if it was deserved?  Nevertheless, I am to the point that her biases need to be confronted.     “Do not answer a fool according to his folly, lest you also be like him.  Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own eyes (Proverbs 26:4-5).”  Maybe the best response is no response, at all.  Not just a lack of response.  A lack of acknowledgement.  Maybe in the silence, she will hear the ignorance of her opinion.  That being said, I know that the moment revealing the truth of her words causing emotional scars will need to be done so with grace.  May I be ready for it, sooner than later. *To learn more about the transgender concern from a Christian perspective, read (Sprinkle, Embodied: Transgender identities, The Church & What the Bible has to say 2021)

The Scarred Beloved

In the morning, 
I awake
Enveloped in Your arms,
Raptured by Your love.
Your eyes share
A pain, but bestow
A joy I hope to eternally know.

But what mar is this
Upon Your face?  A scar
That was to be my own.
Everything You say and do
Declares delight, but
The brokenness You bear
Condemns me.  A reminder how
You laid down Your perfect image,
Took up my imperfect being.

The elders can share the truth:
Even in our union,
I fail to be faithful.
Yet, You clasp my body
Tighter, unconvinced
By a man's charge, who also bears
Secret sins of his own.

You pronounce the pain
Was worth it.
Nevertheless,
I know the truth of my soul.
Do You?
The darkness witnesses
The depravity of my intentions;
A criminal in my own home.

Will the past cease to haunt?
Convinced it will die 
When my sins cease to exist.
But Your hands grasp my face,
Your eyes look at me
Without remorse
For the choice You made.

You remain faithful,
Even when I become faithless.
Tempted to divorce
Due to my shame.
You refute; You will never
Agree to be separated.

No matter how broken
I feel I remain,
Your wholeness continues 
To hold; a security
That refuses to be severed.
So, as I fall, I fall
Into You.  I rest assured
You will never leave.

Your love increasingly 
Convinces me
My now is not my end.
I guess 'til death do us part.
And with no death,
There is no end.
I guess we're stuck together.
I like the sound of that,
My scarred Beloved.





*Taken from the wife's perspective in the parable found in The Man with the Cut-Off Nose (Honest To God Letters: The Man with the Cut-Off Nose) 

Must I be Wed? The "Curse" of Celibacy

Luckily, women can support 
themselves.  But it is still taboo 
for a woman (and men too)
to remain single for any reason. 
Even in the church.

      People in the church say that singleness is a gift.  That as somebody who isn’t married, I should take advantage of this season.  That it is a gift.  Because, as an adult, I don’t have the strings like others, I can afford more time to devote to godly pursuits, such as ministry.  Nevertheless, I have found that gift is hardly the word to describe such a life.  Because not only is there an expectation that I am free to do so much, but ironically, there is a familial pressure to meet people.  And worse, when people in the church gather for smaller connections, often it is the single people who are left out.  Is celibacy such a gift?  The way that it is received in the church seems to act as if it is more like a curse.  One in which should be righted as soon as possible.
    When it comes to the discussion of romance and the church, there is often a display of mixed messages.     “Wait for sex.      But you should make sure you know that he’s the one (when dating).     Everyone has their own season.  Don’t rush this season.  You should enjoy this season.     You’re lonely?  I feel for you.     Oh, there is this person you should meet!”     Seriously, nine times out of ten, when someone says I should meet someone, they are describing a man.  Never a woman.  I can read between the lines.  Honestly, it’s all confusing…and tiresome.  I know that among the practical gifts found in the Bible, celibacy is one of them.  And those who were in the Bible and single took advantage of that and were able to travel and meet many different people, while sharing the gospel.
    However, today?  Most Christian parents get anxious when their children haven’t found a spouse.  Or they joke about how the adult child should declare their availability.  Sometimes, they will give “wisdom” by sharing what ways to get someone interested (“The way to a man’s heart is through his belly.”  Thank you for the added pressure that I should be a stereotypical woman in order to be beautiful enough for a man to give a second glance…Pause, let me hold in my indigestion, as we continue).  Ironically, once a child is married, then the expectation for grandchildren is assumed.  (Why is it never enough?)     This isn’t a post about how I have finally learned how celibacy is a gift.  At this moment, I find it…not so much a curse, as there are times I am just fine being single.  But frankly, I feel like there is something wrong with me.  Especially in the part of socialization in the church.  I have noticed a trend in congruence with how people create friendships.  Singles will mingle with couples who are dating, sometimes married.  Couples dating will definitely fellowship with married folks.  But once married, the majority of friendships are still married folks or folks with kids.  It is hardly seen that a single person is best friends with a mother (unless, in my experience, it is a single mother).     As a single person, I find it frustrating that there isn’t much cross-integration for family life.  And yes, when I am in moments of loneliness, then I am pitied.  However, the solution offered is to just take some time with Jesus, get a dog, or - well, a man would be a nice addition too.  But why doesn’t the body of Christ act like a family?  After all, if we’re God’s kids, doesn’t that make us related?  Why am I left out when women want to meet (besides a church function Bible study)?  If someone recognizes my loneliness, then why not welcome me into their home?  But…as a single person, I guess I wouldn’t relate.     Cause, I don’t know what it’s like to date.  Nor what the battles come when married.  I don’t know what it’s like to raise kids (teaching prepares me only a little).  But if I had married friends who invited me into their home, maybe I could learn.  Actually, I know I would.  I could find a safe place in case I found men I’m interested in.  I would see how a healthy marriage actually looks.  And as for kids?  Maybe someone could walk me through how to work with little ones.  I promise I’m not being selfish by not offering baby-sitting services.  If someone could help me learn how to change a diaper one-handed, then I might actually be more willing to assist.     However, the greater pain of the single life is one where relationships with others are lacking.  Because celibacy is understood as a gift to endure being alone, compared to their married counterparts, it is then assumed that all we need is Jesus to fix our lonely hearts.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am fully aware that I need to learn to go to Jesus first, and foremost, to meet my needs.  Nevertheless, even Paul had companions with him on his missionary journeys.  So, why is it assumed that the single Christian today could go just well, as isolated?  And if I do long for human connection, why not just get married?     Because frankly…the men that people point out to me are so NOT my type.  I remember my mother wishing I would marry a doctor or lawyer.  It was suggested that I should “befriend” a man nearly 20 years my senior, and that same person suggested I should meet a man eight years younger than me.  Like, I get that they think they're great, but I got my standards too.  Sheesh…I digress…     I wish things were simple.  But even if a person who is destined for life-long celibacy needs friends.  And if a person, who is like me, living out this gift, but does want to get married, I understand that marriage isn’t going to solve my emotional woes.  Why the heck has the church bought into the world’s lie that intimacy is only found in a romantic relationship?!  Or, to solve the solution of loneliness, the suggestion is to date or volunteer more.     Yet, neither are truly a good solution.  First, dating to run away from my loneliness is going to put emotional demands on a man on which he was never meant to carry.  Moreover, my love toward him would only be selfish.  And as for volunteering more?  One of the things I am presently learning in my internship is how I am meant to be, not just do.  Having grown up with a works mindset, telling me to volunteer more would only be undoing any progress I have gained.  I am learning that vocation is more about walking in God’s purposeful living, not necessarily making a head count of how much I can be involved.

This is how I feel when people try to 
force a romantic connection for me.

    The single ones in the church aren’t supposed to be the busy bodies of the church!   As far as I have checked, there are many parts, and no, the celibate ones can’t carry it all.  But thank you for asking, anyway.  Do people understand that the purpose of celibacy is abstinence from sex; it isn't about abstaining from intimacy.  And yes, there is a deep intimacy in marriage that cannot be compared.  But that doesn’t delineate the intimacy found in friendships.  So, why have we decided that single people are not in need of company?!     I do realize that God has reserved some to be celibate for a season.  For others, their entire lives.  I do know that by being single, I am available to move wherever He wants to guide me.  I can up and leave in no time, and I do not have to worry about how a change may affect a spouse or children (the latter being the greater concern; married and without kids can also lend to flexibility in lives).  It means I do have more freedom to be involved in ministry, or extra time to devote to things I like to do, or worship.  But I also know me.     I need friends.  I need family.  I need connection.  And the solution isn’t about just how quickly I can get hitched.  I gotta laugh at myself, sometimes.  When I was 22 years old, I thought I would be married by the time I was 26 years.  But almost seven years have passed since the "due date" for my marriage beginnings, and there is no man in sight.  I wouldn’t say that I’ve given up on the hope for marriage, but I’m giving up on having it as an idol.  Only God knows how long I’m going to be single.  But in the meantime, how will the church befriend me?  If there was any way I saw celibacy as a curse, it would be this: in my singleness, it has become an excuse for others to forget me.     And my question is can I be welcomed just as I am?  Am I a gift, as I am?  Am I only good for all the things I do, or can I have value for the person I am becoming?  I’m tired of feeling guilty for feeling lonely.  As if the only person I ever need is Jesus.  If that is so, why are any of us married (and don’t tell me, that it’s so we can procreate)?  I need people who I can share experiences with.  I need someone who I can bounce thoughts off of.  I need to be a part of the body, and not just some appendage.  Otherwise, what good is this gift of celibacy?

Prestine

Pristine...
What is it?
The immaculate
Without mar
Or ruin.  In its form
It is perfect.

Yet, a glass
Tells a different story.

The sun's kisses
Have stained spots
Upon cheeks.
One hand grips in strength,
While a wrist is curved
In weak display.
Scars, callouses and cellulite
Glitter my skin, marked
By miles hiked on life's trails.
Muscles tethered
Joints strained,
Years of wear from
Battles on grass and dust.

The crows rest 
Next to my eyes,
Revealing the tears
I have cried.
The lines above
My brow shares
The worries I've endured.
Creases lay
Where dimples should,
Uttering the joyous
Moments felt.

No, my body
Isn't pristine.
If it were,
It would prove
I never lived.

However,
Maybe it's not the form
But the story displayed
That makes 
My body pristine.

Apparently, I'm Fat

I stared at myself shocked.  I looked amazing!  It was the style I needed, totally my personality, and just look at that price!  It was $16.00 (and from the mall!).  But the shock was more at the label.  An extra-large?  Apparently, this store needs some new eyes, cause that’s the first time I’ve ever needed that size at…my size.  As I compared my figure in the mirror to the piece of paper attached to the fabric, a dark humor then kicked in.  And we wonder why girls are starving themselves.    Comfortability in one’s own skin has been an ongoing battle for girls and women for many generations.  Within my own formative years, it was one that was lost daily.  Sure, I had the “perfect” body, but I questioned by what standard.  After all, “you are skinny” is not synonymous with “you are beautiful.”  It has only been when I have gotten older that I have taken a holistic understanding of my health and body, thereby appreciating it - in its different forms.     Not that I look that much different from my teens.  I stopped being gangly about the age of 15, and with the interest of playing sports combined with puberty, my body became a small, but built box (as I call it).  I am still similar in form, though I have recognized more curves to my hips and skin.  However, where my teen self would be mortified at such a notion of being bigger than skinny, I now am coming to an understanding that my body is going to go through many seasons.  And it will take on many forms.  My goodness!  What will I look like in my 50s or 80s?  What fat and wrinkles will I have then?!

    The truth is, in my thirties, something changed.  I could tell it takes more activity and less food to keep the same image I have kept the last decade or so.  Hormones are a lovely thing, aren’t they?  But not only is the feminine biology to blame.  In the past couple of years, my season of life has changed as I have lived with families, and so, my diet has changed.  Am I still active?  Yes.  But are there other important components of my life to which I must be present?  Also, yes.     When my image is taking precedence over relationships, it is a red flag that physical health is an idol.     There is more to health than what is seen in the mirror.  There are plenty of people who “have the perfect body”, but their amygdala is going on high alert.  Or, all the right nutrients are being fed, but the emotions and soul are left depleted.  True health is more than just what form the body takes.  But it’s taken me some time to personalize this truth for me.     Some things are out of our control.  And as the years pass, the more things are added to that list of things out of my control.  My brain could hyperventilate concerning what I need to fit in my box, or I can change the box according to my season.  I choose the latter.  Especially in the matter of health to my body.     Because I do enjoy food.  I sometimes want a treat.  There are going to be times when I am with people or on vacation and won’t be able to work out as hard and long as I wish.  There may be a time I will be a mother, and well, who knows what that’s like.  And, with strength and conditioning, there is NO WAY I am going to be mini.  But health and beauty doesn’t dictate that one has to be.  Look at P!nk.  That woman can sing, do acrobatics…at the same time.  Her body needing to be strong enough for her shows will change based on the demands.  She is no twig, but she isn’t supposed to be.     If there is one thing I could tell my teenager self, it would be:  prepare your body for what is presently needed.  Whatever that looks like, no matter, as long as you are healthy - that is what counts.  This public obsession over the latest trends of losing fat and how many less calories to eat, and body types is overrated.  Why aren’t we concerned with feeding the person physically, yes, but also mentally, emotionally, and spiritually?     We are in a time where that seems to be the trend.  Plus-sized women are becoming bolder (look at Lizzo), and fashion trends are designing clothes for women of all shapes and sizes.  It is now more possible to find something cute, no matter your form.  But simultaneously, women are praised for being big, but then are also disgruntled against having lost weight for health (medical) reasons.  Or if there are women who were skinny, then gained weight, we still say that time hasn’t been kind to them.  What the heck?! Even in the promotion for self-esteem and loving one’s own body, there is hypocrisy in the news and advertisements.     No matter how society bends, labels have been made and define the value of a person. Labels have rarely, if ever, carried a neutral stance. The irony is that I had a woman tell me that there are dresses being made for curvy women, and “they look great”, but she, herself a plus-sized woman, cowers from confidence.  She finds her security in hiding her form, but genuinely, she herself has never learned to love her body apart from a certain image. Though society had changed its definition, her reality was perpetuated by past labels so much so, that though she knew the beauty standard was more complimentary, she couldn't believe it for herself. With changing seasons, changing labels, and changing definitions, it is hard to keep up. Unless one is defined by a Label that cannot change.     The truth is every woman has been created in the image of God.  We have been fearfully and wonderfully made, and are here and now, for such a time as this.  There is a good work prepared for us.  And so - whatever your body’s form - whether it be extra small, or multiple x’s in front of large, the question is are we equipped for what God has in our lives?  Yes, the discussion for body image may include discussions for health (food and exercise, hormones, etc…) but to even address those sufficiently, one then must let go of the image that they have to be a certain way to finally have “the perfect body”.  No one has it, anyway.  Our lives ebb and flow in different paths, experiences and journeys.  The marks and forms we bear tell a story weaved as a tapestry.  If we weren’t so focused on hiding ourselves until we were “perfect”, I wonder what gift the world would receive.

My Shelter

A bloodstained heart
Beats for the ones
He came to die.
A devoted fondness 
Poured upon, undeterred.
What man may
Define or do;
Think or believe
Cannot withhold
The love You have 
For me.

How You are for me!
Your Grace reaches
To the depth of my soul.
I never need grasp,
Convincing or begging.
His majesty delights
In my being.

I admit: I forget.
Praises cease when 
The unfortunate is my focus.
If Your face is hidden,
Your presence unfelt,
Your voice unheard,
I'm quick to blame Your memory.
But Your ways
Are not my own.
Your foresight stretches
Into eternity beyond
My finite understanding.

I was persuaded
Your shelter proved
An elimination of any threat.
Nonetheless, when gray clouds surround,
You are holding me.
Protection established preparation
To face the enemy
In ways that running never would do.

When I thought it was me
Who fought for myself,
It was You who interceded for me.
You gave my legs 
Strength to stand.
You were the giver
Of words that needed to be
Spoken within the moment's
Danger.

I believed
Your goodness became evident
With the absence of evil.
Nevertheless,
Your faithfulness demonstrated
When death threatened my soul.
As tears touched the earth,
Your comfort drew near.
Your truth penetrates lies.
What scars I bear
Commemorate Your healing.

What redemption I hold,
Your love its inspiration.
What salvation bestowed,
It was Your desire first.
Grace's definition
By Your delight;
Never by my hand.

There are secrets
Only You know.
In my wanderings,
In the wrestlings,
In the joys that fill my eyes.
You see all of me, yet
In Your love,
Your arms cover me
As a robin's feathers
Flutter above her nest
In the rain.

*Romans 8:28