“Come to Me, with all your cares and burdens;
I am able, and desire to give you rest from all shackles;
To take away the stained wrinkled rags that cloth with shame;
These chains you carry do not befit My bride.
Draw close to Me; Abide in My presence patiently;
I want to share secrets and mysteries with you;
Wait on me to receive all that I have for you,
Gifts I’d prepared since the foundations of the earth.
“The worst kind of scars are those that cover unhealed wounds; Scars that are still painful to touch, reacting to even the gentlest of caresses with reflexive responses that spit in the faces of good-will and love. But there’s hope for tomorrow and today; Scars must tell their stories, but they should not control destiny.” – Makafui.
“Alas, the choice was made –
Irrevocable by the edicts of free-will.
Though it broke My heart many times over,
I watched as you left, dejected yet prideful;
Such pride as is borne of ignorance and presumptuousness.
I witnessed the corruption of perfections once more;
Took in at a glance the full extent of the cracks and flaws
Skillfully injected into My impeccable design.
“What do you see?” One of God’s favourite questions to His prophets;
Because “The poor man and the oppressor have this in common:
The LORD gives sight to the eyes of both.”
So then He asks you and I,
“I’ve given you eyes; tell Me, what do you see?”
The vision is not just for the night:
It is the goal by which plans are formed in the light;
It is the assurance that the destination draws closer
With each step and sober diligent effort;
It is a reckoning for realignment where necessary;
A beacon that shines brighter the darker things get;
A fire that sets the heart ablaze and burns away indolence.
“I have loved thee with an everlasting love,
And I have stretched thy boundaries,
Even as I have stretched the heavens,
Wheresoever the soles of thy feet toucheth…
I have blessed, and who curseth?
Art there divinations and enchantments that do counter Mine words?
Will Mine ears hearken unto the calls that plead thy downfall;
Or will I smite in sore anger Mine tabernacle of Grace?
There are those whose stories
Are etched on their bodies;
It’s in every untimely wrinkle,
Each inexplicably heavy sigh;
The weight of each step,
The unconscious stoop,
The wary glance,
The weary countenance,
The shallow smile.
One foot in front of the other;
On a diet of milk and honey,
Easy does it, they say,
That’s how to walk.