DebraBee

Do you know you are loved? How do you know? Why do you know? Does someone tell you? Does someone show you?

These questions fill my mind when I think about my own life. We drove past a grove of trees yesterday where a woman had emptied her shopping cart of all her worldly possessions onto a bench and she was sitting there with her head down amongst it all. I wondered if she could ever remember she was loved by someone?

My heart knows I am loved but now and again, I want to hear those words with my ears. I want to feel that love wrap around me with arms touching me in tangible ways. I believe we are all wired to desire this love expression.

The night sky was lit up by stars I couldn’t touch. I’d seen movies where fireflies had been captured in a bottle. I wondered at nature observed; capturing a light, living light? Candles and incandescent bulbs seemed like child’s play compared to the real thing in existence. Desire to touch the light of all love invaded my soul. Reaching my hand upward, I extended my expression to want for more.

The sun was hot and it was time to rest in the shade for a bit. Looking at the work before me was daunting. I refreshed by drinking another bottle of water. It was easy to notice that none of the rocks were alike. I imagined the years it may have taken for a river to form each rock. Many had rough edges, but many more were smooth on all sides. Tilting my head back I laughed to myself.

I’d been moving these rocks for days, but only in my rest did I take notice of what they spoke about time. I could imagine another picture in my mind. How long in the river would it take for my rough edges to be smoothed out? I put my gloves on again to move the rocks. I began to admire the edges for possibilities to fit where the smooth ones didn’t. It was easy enough to use the smooth rocks to cover those with edges.

1 Peter 2:4-5 (CEV) Come to Jesus Christ. He is the living stone that people have rejected, but which God has chosen and highly honored. And now you are living stones that are being used to build a spiritual house. You are also a group of holy priests, and with the help of Jesus Christ you will offer sacrifices that please God.

Soaking in the melodies of beautiful music, I open my eyes to enjoy the celebration happening all around the large auditorium. My attention is drawn opposite of where I am sitting. Far from me I can see a woman having two flags in her hand. Lost in her worship she spins and moves in a rhythm all her own, waving her declarations of love. I find the intimate act of this worship touch my spirit.

Behind her is a large wall where the flags of nations are posted on stands. They are softly lit by low light, but today I notice this light to reflect five arches. The woman is dancing back and forth in front of these nation symbols beneath the arches of light. I take note of the flags in her hand. Both are without detail except in solid colors. One is white and the other red. I hear in my heart, “the purity of My blood offers grace”.

I watch her for a long time. She knows how to dance in her freedom.

A collection of treasures I carefully nurture within my heart. These are faith, hope and love. I like to bring them out on a regular basis to share with others as I am given opportunity. My hope looks like a jewel of value with sparkling colors as it’s turned in all directions. My faith is a solid precious stone, smooth to the touch and unmoving in the trials of life. My love is a light that cannot be snuffed out. Its brightness floods every dark place, letting no shadows exist.

1 Cor 13:13 And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

Some therefore cried one thing and some another, for the assembly was confused, and most of them did not know why they had come together. Acts 19:32

Is this not the same thing that happens daily across the world? For myself, I want to know the reason I join any assemblage, no matter the appearance of seeming good or importance. We must listen with hearts of understanding if we are to keep from blindly following the crowds.

A soft song began playing in my car and I wondered how long it had been since I’d listened to it. Watching my wiper blades clear the rain away from my window, I felt my thoughts drift off to another place, another time. Melancholy came when I heard the words, “is this love or is this hate, I’m so afraid”. In my mind’s eye I could see a little girl sitting alone in her room. She too was staring out a window while the rain fell.

Turning off the music I listened to the sound of a rain that had been falling since the dawn of creation. This water would always refresh the earth and be poured out again and again. I wanted it to wash over me, cleansing me of the questions I’d carried for too long. I didn’t want to be afraid ever again. I didn’t want any little girl to be afraid.