Miley, The Flower

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.adventures,children,choices,destinies,Fotolia,futures,girls,highways,horizons,journeys,kids,looking ahead,paths,people,possibilities,roads,travelling,travels,youths

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.blowing,blows,childhood,children,dandelions,females,fields,flowers,Fotolia,girls,kids,outdoors,outside,parks,people,Photographs,portraits,spring,summer,youths

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.

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All little girls come with hearts wanting to be pure.

All little girls come with hearts wired for sacred beauty.African descent,costumes,dressing up,expressions,faces,girls,happy,kids,mirrors,pretty,tiaras,people,personal appearances

Is it not true?

If we don’t believe that, then we are not really seeing.butterflies,children,daisies,flowers,gardens,girls,kids,nature,outdoors,outside,people,Photographs,plants,playing,plays,skies,toys

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.

Girl running on grass with no shoes, only wearing a white dress

Go after her heart and help her to find her way back into the Garden again. blooms,blossoms,floral,flowers,nature,petals,photographs

Leaving Nets, Crossing Fences

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It was A Suddenly.

One day a Fisher man was doing the hard work of hauling nets in the Galilean Sea, the next day he was doing the hard work of following.

Simply because he was invited.

Come. Follow Me.

These words precipitated The Suddenly for the Fisher man who up until this divine invitation, was accustomed to the one thing he knew how to do… which, of course, was fishing.

Come.

Folllow.

Me.

When a person answers that call, their horizon changes.IMG_7612

This Fisher man, once familiar with the buoyancy of a boat, must now navigate the immovable crust of the earth.IMG_7601

Instead of the spontaneity of wind and waves, he now lives in the spontaneity of a harlot wincing at the thud of a dropped but un-thrown rock;  of a child receiving back her breath; of a lame man’s friends ripping apart a roof for a healing.

Instead of inhabiting the wide openness of the sea, the Fisher man rubs shoulder and hip within the confines of the rabble, some pushing and shoving, some flailing and foaming, one reaching reaching reaching for a healer’s hem.

This Fisher man who knows the utility of a tied rope and a lifted sail, will witness the poetry of deliverance when a man drops chains for real and his mind is set on a right course.

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He, this Fisher man, is out of his comfort zone and it is on land where he must learn to sink or swim.

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All because the One who called him that day on the beach. Come. Follow. Me.

Did the Fisher man know the routine was about to change?

Did he have any idea what following Jesus would mean to his timetable?

I, too, am answering a call, and because of that my routine of life has taken a different course and I am learning to dance the dance of adjustment.

I am following,  but there are still places where I grope and have to feel my way through.

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I may not have nets to lay aside, but there are fences I must cross.

It is a grace thing.

Every morning there is a new mercy.

When I am tempted to look back and lament the loss of the familiar, He is faithful to shine more light on the matter that is now in front of me. IMG_7589

What is the most amazing thing to me is when the He brings forth a clear day.  One with bridges.

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He knows me so well.

He knows when I need to see the bigger picture.  He knows when to call me out onto the water with nothing to hang onto. IMG_7611

He is not put off by my sinking.

He is in love with my feeble “Yes, here I come. I will follow.”IMG_5293