There’s something about the eyes of a child
They notice the small things
Including the hints of sadness that adults miss
Children have that gift…
And so, it was with concern that she attempted to ‘counsel’ me yesterday
She pointed out the cycles she’d observed
Describing them as violent ups and downs
Ups when I encourage others
Downs when I reflect on me
She suggested that perhaps by focusing on others
I managed to deflect my thoughts
To dodge the deep questions?
Ah,
She may well be correct
So, permit me to be direct
My Father,
You were strategic in first showing me whose I am
For it is from that place of security in You
That I can now ask You to reveal me to Me
You see
I have a deep understanding of Mary
After seven husbands
She was deceived
As were all who thought they understood her story
Mary found her identity
Only when You spoke her name
I am depending on You to do the same
For You have caused me to discover how I, too, was a mere repository
for misery
Breeding a womb of mixed personalities
Which presentation of ‘me’ do people see?
I would have languished in self-pity
Had I not believed that the same miracle in Your call to Mary
Will redeem my name, my purpose, my destiny
copyright@joydanyelle