Saturday, April 3, 2010

Barefeet in Fields of Wildflowers

I did spend some time in contemplation yesterday and also worked on what I want to share at our upcoming women's retreat...yep, my procrastinating self is ahead of schedule people!

Anyway, I was wanting to write a short story or poem to illustrate some points and what I wrote happens to fit pretty closely with my blog's theme. Also, when I was on the second to the last paragraph I realized that this was really for a dear friend of mine. A friend who's been through trial after trial this past year and also happened to name her baby daughter Grace. Okay, here ya go...

Barefeet in Fields of Wildflowers

Emerging from the darkened forest her bare feet touch the soil still damp with dew. Closing her eyes, she listens again for the whisper of her name. She heard it before, deep in the forest, but now it’s been replaced by the roar of the wind blowing up from the valley below.

Carefully, she steps away from the trees and the roar changes again to whispers against the tall grass and wildflowers. The breeze is warm against her freckled skin and bare legs, hinting at Indian summer.

She opens her eyes and her heart springs forth inside of her responding once again to being called to this place.

Droplets glisten on fiery red poppies as they send glory to the sun. Purple clovers dance in the breeze and violet blue bells ring up and down in a beautiful symphony of color and diamonds.

Tears escape as, amid the display, the desire of her heart threatens to consume the life within her.

What is your desire my child? She hears and her heart cries “Love.”

The warmth of the air envelopes the girl as she trembles in the Presence.

She knows the hands that hold her are pierced through.

She knows the tears she feels anointing her head have waited patiently and lovingly for so long.

My delight is in you, He speaks her name again and healing rushes in like a hurricane.

When you passed through the waters, I was with you. I didn’t allow them to consume you. When you walked through the fire, you were not burned, nor scorched by the flames. You are mine and I love you. I sold cities to pay for you.

As if awakening from a dream she looks up. The wind has taken the various flower seeds and scattered them further down the mountain. Flurries of dust go every which way and as shadows creep through the field, the petals start to come together for evening prayer.

The girl wipes warm tears from her cheeks and gently cradles her abdomen, just starting to swell.

“I know your name my daughter,” she whispers as she feels the life growing within her.

“Your name is Grace.”

1 comment:

Jen said...

Love the flow and eloquent, carefully selected words creating a beautiful picture of..."grace". Always good to come & read here, my friend!


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