A Jealous God.
Won't allow His daughters to live slaving lies.
His bride will be pure.
And it has been a week of wash basin and towel.
In the hands of the Servant Savior.
Water and the Word, see.
That's the right way to get cleaned up.
After a bit of mucking around.
In the pit of pride.
Attending that self pity party.
Dressed for a ball until I see Him waiting and watching.
Standing over the vats of water with His rod.
I don't whine.
I am a grape that must be pressed.
By His feet. By His walk.
By His relentless witness and the way He always says.
"Pick it up, Beloved. Pick up your cross, now. Again. And follow Me all the way home."
Home,
Bernadette
You had me at the first two lines. I've been the daughter living the slaving lies, too. And, oh, the washing away of the past? It's hurts. But it heals, too, and in the end, you'll never want to go back. Praying for courage and strength to lay it all down and let Him sift through all the brokenness until He lifts you new and clean from beneath His water. Standing with you and cheering you on, Dear One!
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