There was once a young girl who was princess of a faraway land. But she didn't know she was a princess. She had never met her Father, who was King of the land. As a baby, the Princess was stolen from her Father by an evil so great that no one dared to speak it's name. The grieved King searched high and low for His daughter, never ceasing His search until He found her. Then one day He did. She was seven years old when he found her. She was a loving girl, trusting everyone she met. She willingly showed her heart to all. As she grew up, people who had called themselves friend were one by one stealing pieces of her heart, ripping out chunks as they went. Some people ripped out two. And some ripped out twenty. Her whole heart quickly became very raw. Now it happened that her Father was also the chief healer of the kingdom. He begged his Princess to come to Him, to give him her whole heart so that He could heal and protect it. She ignored every loving plea that escaped His lips. And so He watched as His beloved Daughter was hurt again and again. One day, as He was walking in His garden, he saw her crying. He sat next her and asked, "My Daughter, why are you crying?"
She hid her face from Him as she sobbed, "Father, everyone who has ever said they loved me has ended up hurting me. My heart is hurting, Father. I don't think I can take this much longer."
As a tear fell from his eye, He took her face in His hands and looked into her eyes. "Not everyone, my Daughter. Do I not tell you - and show you - everyday in numerous ways that I love you?" she nodded her head. "And have I even once said or showed you otherwise?" she shook her head. "Precious Daughter.... I care for you as no one else can. You know of my position as chief healer. Let me heal you now." uncertainty was in her eyes yet she said nothing. Her Father spoke once more. "Let me share something with you. I have a very special role for you in my kingdom. You will become my apprentice, and I shall teach you to heal. But, my Daughter, before you can heal anyone else, you yourself must be healed. Will you give me your heart?"
Her heart pounded and she knew the answer. She was afraid, but she knew what she must do. She glanced down ever-so-slightly as she grasped her heart in one hand and her Father's hand in the other. She turned His hand so His palm was facing up. And then she placed her heart in His hand. She noticed, as she did so, that her heart and both her hands barely took up half of his palm, and she suddenly realized how small she was. And then before she could think more on the subject, the healing began.
To Be Continued...
4.04.2011
Dancing in the Storm
It's raining again.
The eye of the storm had passed over me,
leaving me breathless
to enter into the other side.
Now I'm here, behind,
because I was ducked back into the water
without a breath.
I can't see. Can't see anything at all.
It's dark and black, and all around me.
The noise is deafening, thunderous, whining,
like a black hole would sound
if you could hear it.
I'm so battered, so tired, so weak.
My muscles are quaking
in pain and exhaustion.
One step takes all my strength
I don't see how I make it to two.
I'm cold, always so cold
and wet and miserable...
and I can't see or hear anything.
The forest around me only exists
because I saw myself enter it.
And now I can only place timid hands
in front of me to fend off the world.
The Dark Night of the Soul.
Midnight to 3:00 am.
Can't see.
Can't feel
anything but fear.
But my body moves of its own accord
not even stopping to think
that maybe I'm moving with the storm
not out of it.
My head is bowed against the torrent;
wind and rain, mud and ice
all around;
battered, so battered.
Can you see it?
The storm that threatens
looms menacingly over the earth
like a void in space and time
sending me into the depths
of a valley so deep, so dark
that the only light, the only warmth
is that inside of me.
The only hope is the little light
the little candle flame,
the little coal
that sits inside my heart
like a golden promise
or a memory
of better days.
But that promise is what drives me
it gives me the strength
the power
to put one weary foot
before the other
on my way
out of this forest
this valley, the storm
into the golden fields
that are promised:
my place of rest.
I yearn for those hills
where milk and honey
wave to me from the grasses
where the warmth of the sun
soaks into my skin
to the depths of my soul.
Where the tent is a welcome shade
of rest that calms,
oh, the sheepskin tent.
So I place one weary foot
before the other
and walk on
hands timid
head bent
into the wall of water
into the wind
and the storm.
For the warmth inside me whispers
"Yet, yet shall there be rest
yet shall there be peace
yet shall there be a time
when my voice
will be as clear to you as day
and as warm as the sun
and I shall come
and visit with you
in the sheepskin tent
of communion.
Yet there shall be this time
and we shall dance
together
in Abelmeholah
the meadow of the dance
because this trial
will have strengthened your legs
your body
so that you can
bear to dance with me
as I sing over you
with joy."
And so I put one weary foot
before the other
my chest warm
with the promise.
And the wind howls
the water stings
and the earth moves
beneath me
but I accept it
with arms outstretched
as I let it take me where it will;
dancing in the storm
so that I may have the privilege
of dancing without,
in Abelmeholah
with my God, my King.
--MovingGirl
The eye of the storm had passed over me,
leaving me breathless
to enter into the other side.
Now I'm here, behind,
because I was ducked back into the water
without a breath.
I can't see. Can't see anything at all.
It's dark and black, and all around me.
The noise is deafening, thunderous, whining,
like a black hole would sound
if you could hear it.
I'm so battered, so tired, so weak.
My muscles are quaking
in pain and exhaustion.
One step takes all my strength
I don't see how I make it to two.
I'm cold, always so cold
and wet and miserable...
and I can't see or hear anything.
The forest around me only exists
because I saw myself enter it.
And now I can only place timid hands
in front of me to fend off the world.
The Dark Night of the Soul.
Midnight to 3:00 am.
Can't see.
Can't feel
anything but fear.
But my body moves of its own accord
not even stopping to think
that maybe I'm moving with the storm
not out of it.
My head is bowed against the torrent;
wind and rain, mud and ice
all around;
battered, so battered.
Can you see it?
The storm that threatens
looms menacingly over the earth
like a void in space and time
sending me into the depths
of a valley so deep, so dark
that the only light, the only warmth
is that inside of me.
The only hope is the little light
the little candle flame,
the little coal
that sits inside my heart
like a golden promise
or a memory
of better days.
But that promise is what drives me
it gives me the strength
the power
to put one weary foot
before the other
on my way
out of this forest
this valley, the storm
into the golden fields
that are promised:
my place of rest.
I yearn for those hills
where milk and honey
wave to me from the grasses
where the warmth of the sun
soaks into my skin
to the depths of my soul.
Where the tent is a welcome shade
of rest that calms,
oh, the sheepskin tent.
So I place one weary foot
before the other
and walk on
hands timid
head bent
into the wall of water
into the wind
and the storm.
For the warmth inside me whispers
"Yet, yet shall there be rest
yet shall there be peace
yet shall there be a time
when my voice
will be as clear to you as day
and as warm as the sun
and I shall come
and visit with you
in the sheepskin tent
of communion.
Yet there shall be this time
and we shall dance
together
in Abelmeholah
the meadow of the dance
because this trial
will have strengthened your legs
your body
so that you can
bear to dance with me
as I sing over you
with joy."
And so I put one weary foot
before the other
my chest warm
with the promise.
And the wind howls
the water stings
and the earth moves
beneath me
but I accept it
with arms outstretched
as I let it take me where it will;
dancing in the storm
so that I may have the privilege
of dancing without,
in Abelmeholah
with my God, my King.
--MovingGirl
4.01.2011
Freed-A Collaboration
Freed
Pure, innocent, unbroken
Skin held taut against the pressure
Angel wings that threaten
To escape from the confines of
Flesh, bone, and memory
Cold, hard, symmetrical
A hollow silhouette beckons
The backbone of a girl
Set against the world
With Angel wings in her heart
Promise, trust, loyalty
A fingerprint with a name
Shadows and valleys
Illuminated dreams
On the tips of Angel wings
Humble, strong, true
Crucified to self
Solid and with a purpose
Shoulders lifted in
Exultation of the flight
Bought, paid for, purchased
At a price that looses
The binds and chords of earth
Ransomed by The cross
Purity, innocence, love
Bathed, washed, covered
In the blood of Calvary
Ignites a fire inside bones
Flesh and memory
Skin freed for Angel wings
Photo:
--DaughteroftheMostHigh
Poem:
--MovingGirl
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