Stricken by lightning, torn down by the flu, mocked by dearly beloveds, scorned by passers by. Weathered and beaten by the hem of her sleeve, she was done. What a way to please the world, she thought, and she did it with every vibrant, vulnerable beat.
She hid no feelings and everything and their powers ruined her for it.
She staggered, bruised and downcast across the cotton wrinkles. The creases of her shirt felt like valleys and trenches — Agonisingly, withering, she walked away from the edge bleeding uncontrollably… The green zig zag slowly faded. The tinnitus beep followed thereafter. The field won this round…
Stoic. Is this what you want from me?
Numb. Is this what you want from me?
Plain. Is this what you want from me?
Mute. Is this what you want from me?
There was clearly a chemical imbalance. Deoxygenated maybe? Muscle failure. Sharp flutters, she was fading, slowly; a disconnect from her source.
Disengaged. Violated, wallowing in her blood a voice calls out, “Live!” Naked and bare, she begins to beat again. New life was birthed in her, truth was spoken over her.
She fled back this time, her thuds were excited. Her black hole welcomed her, it was warm just as she had left it. The body was one and she was at peace. They thrived in unity, each part serving the another faithfully. They appreciated her on her return; “Thine heart is back, may we live on!” the victorious cry from the mouth piece announced! A jubilant breath filled the lungs, the hands clapped and the feet stomped, were they glad to see their heart back in place.
The heart goes back into the body and learns to work with the body to glorify God.
Not only is it glorifying God, but it is learning how to love. To love properly. Love is not selfish in thinking of itself and its own freedoms, love gives, works together; love is whole.
For love to flow, love first needs to be poured into, poured into by a continuous wellspring higher than itself. A cistern, dedicated to fulfilling the heart with more and more of itself. That wellspring of love is God.