It’s the depth that no one sees, the deepest soul of things. Paint that hides underneath the yellowed varnish that was forgotten for a hundred years or more, until one brave chisel flaked away the dark to show the light. The ugly turns beautiful like the old is renewed. It causes me to ponder the days of the past…when she was young and I was scared and captivated at the same time.
It’s nearly springtime, and I’m watching as life is battling winter every minute, every second to find its way out of the ground and into the blue sky out here.
I remember when she found a feather for the first time, and she smiled and held it up, and the velvety strands were strong despite the wind and the weather. She throws it in the air and shouts, here bird, it’s the dove we once had that she always called ‘bird’, here’s your feather, at six she’s just beginning to speak of life through words. It flies up to where her little fingers can’t reach, for a moment she whimpers and this second of sadness falls over her.
My breathing lingers on this one feather as it floats down, downward like the oceans wave in slow motion and her smile fills me, the look of discovery and love in her eyes. I whisper, open your hands, open those blessed little hands. The second of sadness turns to joy and glee as the feather spirals down and touches her fingers and I see a glimmer of light in her eyes, nestled in a spot between the tips of her hair and her eyes wide open and Oh, how she shines. This is You, in which I give all my love.
Down on my knees, where I am one with dirt and clay, I take the feather and tuck it in her hair, this little girl He gave me, the little girl in my heart throwing back long, light brown waves of hair with spirally curls on the ends, I smile as she is laughing to the sky. It’s holy laughter and love for His creation in the purest form.
I’m beginning to find Him in the little things, the things I had forgotten. I’ve written here for years about the beautiful ones, the weak, the small, the strong, the almost hidden ones in the Bible, the ones He created that were seemingly invisible to everyone else.
My memories of this innocent and brilliant little girl drift in and out while slicing avocados. I watch the slowly melting away of the thick skin under the cold steel of the knife to reveal the green nourishment, the delicacy and the thick and perfectly-shaped pit, the way a womb holds life, like your mother when she carried You inside of her. I’m speechless how much life can be wrapped up in something so wrinkled, so ugly it’s beautiful in the life it bore.
I feel the pain of that knife slicing, like the birthing of life, so smooth is the pain that has built-up around the potential of life that He placed in my heart. It hurts and the release causes me to laugh and cry at the new life I see.
The dirt is seen, speckles indulging here and there, tucked away deeply, like the clay moulded and breath of life that came before it. It blooms rich like spring and life through grace; indeed there is life shining from every pore. I long to be radiant, to remove the veil so the Light bursting from me can be a witness to every corner.
Tears stream down on my face as the feathers of life move and the ugly/beautiful grace of renewal spreads and the Light of Him flows through me.
I feel something stir deep inside my soul. It’s that little girl that was me and now… is she, tucking the feather behind her ear, she sits beneath a tree with the soles of her feet pressed together and elbows on knees.
Silent whispers breathing softly, your words run through me, interwoven like the roots of Life that is You.