She forgot who is she so now she’s lost.
Some say she’s lost her values. Some say she’s lost her dignity. Some say she may have lost her mind.
I say she lost her heart.
She gyrates and “twerks” in front of thousands of people because supposedly this is her coming of age moment. She is a woman now and isn’t this what we women do? Open our petals for all the world to see because after all…this adornment we have been given, this beauty gift, this sex; is our power. We can entice and manipulate and bring men to their not-so-praying knees.
But the girl is mistaken. She has believed a lie that came all the way from a far away garden where the first flowers got trampled and now she tramples on her own self. She twists and stomps and trades her beauty for shock and awe because she has lost her heart and therefore she has lost her way.
Instead of power the girl has become a scapegoat. Like my husband said the other day…she’s the whistling teakettle sounding the alarm for all things gone wrong, but we forget that tea kettle’s been set to boil for a long time.
What do we expect when we set our wayward passions to flame?
Instead of attaining power, the girl has become a scapegoat. Her coming of age is a coming apart. She is ripped and thrown down for judgement, but where is the man who stood with her that night? Where is the man who sings songs of abasement, too? Why is the girl left standing alone?
The Preacher man said the girl is like the modern-day adulterous woman who was dragged to the town square for her crimes, the rocks scraping piles on the ground. The only man who stood with her that day was the One who makes all things new. The One who takes crushed petals and breathes on them.
The one who says she is no longer de-flowered. She is re-flowered.
“This is not who you are. Stop sinning. Start living. There are no rocks here.”
Look at all the little girls and you will see them…flowers, petals, fragile and soft…hinting at fragrance.
All little girls come with hearts wanting to be pure.
All little girls come with hearts wired for sacred beauty.
Is it not true?
If we don’t believe that, then we are not really seeing.
We are not seeing the way He sees.
And when those flower girls reveal their fragility, their brokenness…when they are crushed by the demands of guilty passions and the depravity of the human heart we do well not to rejoice over their public stumble. We lay down our own stones ask the Gardener to do what He does best:
Go after the girl.
Go after her heart and help her to find her way back into the Garden again.