I Still Belong to You

I can't make the words come the way I want to. I've tried. I want them to be pretty. I want to be poetic. I want to tell my story in such a way that it unfolds beautifully. But the story is beautiful anyway - no matter how I tell it - because He is redeeming it. Everything the Lord puts His hands on becomes beautiful. So I am just going to tell you like I would if I were sitting at the end of your couch alternately clutching a pillow and talking with my hands.

When I left the flock I lost my identity. I didn't know who I was or what I believed. I could quote all the "right" doctrines. And tell you precisely how scripture "should" be interpreted - with no small amount of cynicism. The only solid thing I had to stand on was the cross.  I could not deny it's transforming power in my life and I clung to it.

For several months I was paralyzed with fear to approach any spiritual topic, to read the bible, to do anything that required independent thinking. I believed a lie that I would become the worst version of myself by leaving the flock. I worried that by walking away from certain relationships, I was walking away from Jesus. I worried that I would self-fulfill the prophecy of rebellion, heresy, and immaturity. I was slow to realize that none of those fears materialized.

At 24 years old I am starting over. The simplest truths completely wreck me. A few refrains of "Jesus Loves Me" and I'm a puddle of tears. It's baffling to me. I've been following Christ since I was a small child - you would think I'd know these things by now. For the first time in my life I'm experiencing humility that isn't forced or full of shame.

I'm getting my identity back. Several weeks ago my pastor at the church I'm attending abandoned his sermon to follow the Lord's prompting and invited us to wrestle with God as we felt led. I began to pray, not knowing where to begin. Gently the Lord put his finger on the lies that I have believed about my identity. He unraveled the fear. And told me in no uncertain terms that I belong to Him. I belong to Him alone. This is truth that no man can touch or take away from me. I can stop fighting, stop making excuses and simply believe Him.

Psalm 73 has been an anchor for me in many ways the last few months.

Psalm 73:21-26 NLT

I still desire Him more than anything on earth. He is the strength of my heart -He is mine forever. I cling to this truth, this promise. No one will take it away.

The Shepherd's Presence

I love to lie on my porch swing and sway in a wide arc. I relish feeling my stomach drop a little with each deep back -- and forth. But tonight the crickets are humming to me. And my swing is rocking slowly, slightly. The barest hint of a breeze kisses my skin. I feel warm and comforted from the very depths.

"He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs into his arms; he will carry them in his bosom..." Isaiah 40:11

I am learning the nature of the true Shepherd. Which is humbling, because in almost 20 years of following Him, I thought I knew Him well. The truth I'm discovering is that I'd been independent from Him, foolishly following and helplessly dependent on the flock rather than the Shepherd Himself.

So I separated from the flock. 

I had no choice. I couldn't any longer distinguish His voice from the bleating around me and the cries from my own mouth. I was overwhelmed and terrified by my inability to hear the clear voice of the Shepherd. Each time I thought I heard Him, I questioned the flock, "Did you hear that too?" and compared it against their cries. I only obeyed if they went with me.

In my panic to escape I tripped and stumbled on every lie in my path, believing I would never again hear the voice of the true Shepherd while distanced from the flock. Some of the lies were spoken over me as I ran, and some were offered up by the enemy of my soul who I'd disregarded for so long I was taking credit for his deceptions as my iniquity. I believed the Shepherd would not pursue me. I was labeled rebellious, a heretic, discordant, immature, and emotional. What would the Shepherd want with me? 

I grew up hearing the story of the Good Shepherd and never imagined myself becoming the wounded stray. I  believed I was alone and felt so lost. I still craved His voice, but I didn't trust myself to hear it clearly. I suppose that's why He let me out into the wilderness before He came after me.

And He most certainly came after me.

In spite of the lies I believed, the Good Shepherd sought me out in a place I never would have believed He still inhabited. And there He sang over me, rejoicing over me and gathered me to Himself. His banner over me is love that I'd wholly forgotten existed.

I am only just learning to trust that I know His voice. This moment on my porch swing encompasses His embrace. If I listen just a bit more I will soon hear the heartbeat of the Shepherd. I am invited to tuck my head against His chest. His breath is in the breezes. The rhythms of His voice are echoed in the leaves, crickets and frogs. Distant thunder rumbles His strength.

Here the Shepherd is present. I am the lamb gathered in His arms and He carries me in His bosom. 

Have you ever experienced a moment where you've felt His presence so poignantly? Share it with me.

Hide and Seek Him

If you grew up in a two parent home you are likely familiar with the following scenario: A child is wailing loudly in protest to whichever parent happens to be administering discipline.

"I want my daaaaaaddyyyyyyyy!"

You would often find me so, curled into the back of my closet, sitting on piles of stuffed animals and discarded prom dresses. I would cry for whichever parent had not crossed me - hoping they would hear from the living room on the other side of the wall.

Then there was a day that I opened my mouth to cry for my mother or father and found that I could not call for either. I knew that neither would offer the comfort I sought. My tears became suddenly silent and I whispered,

 "I want my Jesus." 

I sought comfort from the only constant in my life. I didn't need to make a sound in order to be heard.

Today I can recapture my tiny closet sanctuary with perfect clarity. The pattern of my best Sunday dresses, walling me in, are burned into memory. The uneven plaster carelessly applied to walls never meant to be examined so closely. And the words, written in green crayon, "I want my Jesus."

That closet became my refuge. It was there my heart broke for the first time over friendships broken and lost. In that place I felt fully the first effects of loneliness and rejection. Pressed against three walls, I cried, confident each tear was captured by a Savior who loves me. I never cried for anyone else after that first prayer was whispered. My soul found its' resting place.

The place I used to hide taught me to hide myself in Him.

I have been hiding ever since. Not in a closet. These days my soul finds more refuge in the open air, admiring the handiwork of my Heavenly Father. I have sought Him from dried-up drainage canals, and in pine-carpeted woods, in clearings of wildflower fields, graveyards, and winding country roads.

I'm tempted to wrap this up with a nice little bow. I could do a concordance search on the word "hide" and find the deeper meaning, paired with a few quotes from the Psalms to solidify my position. But that wouldn't be real.  The fact is that right now my soul is seeking sanctuary again. I wish so much to return to my closet. I have very little that is familiar to me right now. I am vulnerable. I am broken. I am being humbled. And all I know to do is cry, "I want my Jesus."

The Ready Soul

This post is a part of the Travel Stories series at Prodigal Magazine. 

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I was ready. Four hundred forty-four miles of winding, commercialism-free road lay ahead of us. My tiny car was packed for camping along the Natchez Trace Parkway, spanning the distance between Natchez, Mississippi and Nashville, Tennessee.

Two hours into the trip, with rain pouring in sheets, my sister and I realized we forgot something vital – prayer. So we stopped and prayed that God’s will be done on this trip. That we would be His hands and feet to all we encountered. For protection. And almost as an afterthought – that He roll away the rain clouds. Within minutes I was able to open the sunroof, marveling at the love of my Heavenly Father.

Natchez Trace Parkway after the rain

We drove this way for 170 miles until heavy grey clouds began to drop hail onto the road ahead. It took me several seconds to identify this form of precipitation since I’d rarely seen it as a child. There was no mistake when the first piece hit the windshield, sounding like a gunshot. We began to pray, out loud. I wasn’t sure how the glass roof panel of my car would hold up. The hail picked up in speed and size as we continued to drive, scanning the horizon for any kind of shelter. We drove for 2 full miles this way. At the rate we were going and the rate of hailstones falling, we should’ve been hit countless times. Yet, I can count on one hand the number of hailstones that hit my vehicle during that stretch. Five - five pieces of ice. In my eyes we were experiencing a miracle. I don’t know how the Lord protected us, I only know He did.

Finally, we reached a crossroads and followed a truck into a tiny town. The hail was reaching golf-ball size. Immediately we were aware of a deafening screech that took me only seconds to identify where I’d heard the sound before. Twister. The tornado siren turned its din on us, making my heart rate increase two fold. We needed shelter and we needed it fast. My sister pulled up to the French Camp, Mississippi post office where we dashed inside the small cinder block building.

The postal clerk invited us into the back of the building and showed us where she’d cleared space underneath a steel table if we needed to hunker down there. A radio blared gospel music, frequently interrupted with foreboding weather updates. We made nervous small-talk with the Postal Clerk while we tried to reach family and friends to let them know where we were. When the hail finally gave way to rain, we all trooped next door to the French Camp Visitors Center to wait out the rest of the storm. People of all ages milled about. Judging from the “LSU” logos emblazoned across our sweatshirts everyone immediately surmised where we were from and that we’d been traveling the Natchez Trace.

We were introduced to a couple of young ladies with “French Camp Academy” nametags who began filling us in on the day’s events. Tekoa – who is named after the hometown of the Hebrew prophet Amos – informed us that we’d landed in a town with a population of 350 that was home to a Christian boarding school for young people from broken homes. She and Summer told us about the work they did with the Academy and the teenage girls they mentored. I felt a tug on my heart, sensing they were of kindred spirit so I said, “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you girls love Jesus a whole lot. Otherwise, I don’t think you’d be doing this out here. Am I right?” Smiles spread across their faces. They affirmed my suspicions and began openly sharing their passion for being examples of purity to the young girls in their lives.

Tears pricked my eyes. They were speaking our language. After several minutes exchanging testimonies and stories I was overcome by the providence of being stranded in this town with these people. It was apparent with every passing moment that God planted us there for a purpose.

By the early afternoon the storms passed and sun was peeking out. Summer and Tekoa began making plans to go back to work, preparing for a conference that evening. It was apparent from their discussion they were shorthanded. My sister and I looked at each other. We knew. This was why we were here. Our campsite in Northeast Mississippi could wait. I nervously offered our services to the girls, telling them we were available to help in whatever necessary capacity – making beds, cleaning toilets, mopping floors, or whatever else they needed. Sure, we sounded crazy. But I also knew with every beat of my heart that this is where God wanted us.

So we went to work! We shared stories while we made beds and marveled at the hand of God so obvious in each of our lives. That night Tekoa invited us back to her apartment for dinner where we shared heartbreaks and healing. My sister and I were both convicted and encouraged. We felt Jesus Christ in the flesh when they offered us hot showers and put us up for the night. The next morning we were speechless as we drove past swaths of tornado damaged trees within a mile of where we'd taken shelter. God truly protected us.

French Camp, MS at Sunrise

Prior to the trip I’d been meditating on this quote by Oswald Chambers, “Be ready for the sudden surprise visits of God. A ready person never needs to get ready. Think of the time we waste trying to get ready when God has called! The burning bush is a symbol of everything that surrounds the ready soul, it is ablaze with the presence of God.” For one day my soul was ready – ready for God to interrupt with anything. He filled that day with miracles and divine appointments. Remembering this trip always makes me wonder; if the Lord can do so much with a ready soul surrendered for one day, what can he do with a ready soul surrendered to Him for a lifetime?

Bond of Sisters, Bond of Christ

Those who know me only through my blog or other social media outlets know me as a singular person. Rebekah Hope. But to those who run in the circles of friends and family I am one part of a duet known as "Bekah and Jordan" or more commonly "The Ward Girls". One part is rarely without the other. My sister and I share something special. Actually, we share most everything - an apartment, a car, clothing, and countless other things. We're rarely apart. We don't think twice about it. It's our "normal". Neither realizes how abnormal or unique this relationship is until we get the funny looks and the exclamations of "It's so great you and your sister can do that! My siblings and I could never..."

But it wasn't always this way. In my early teens I made a lot of the 18 months and 2 grade levels between Jordan and I. I was determined that we would never be on the same playing field in any arena, convinced I was superior as the older, "wiser" sister. As teenagers we fought constantly. I love sharing this story because  watching peoples faces as Jordan and I tandem in the telling is the best part. When they see our relationship now they can hardly believe there was a time we didn't get along - at all. Aside from my own salvation, this is the greatest miracle God has done in my life.

I will never forget the night. At fifteen years old, after a particularly bad argument with Jordan, I was praying on the floor of my bedroom. I couldn't reconcile my desire to please the Lord with the way I acted towards my sister. I knew it wasn't right. But she was my little sister. What did she know? What gave her the right to correct me in anything? God stopped that thought with these words, "That girl in the next room? You need her. She sees the absolute worst parts of you and loves you anyway. I gave her to you for a reason." That night repentance took place. Many cleansing tears were shed. We agreed in prayer for the first time as sisters and we've never been the same since.  

I never would've anticipated how much I would grow to need my sister over the years. In the beginning learning to swallow my pride and allow my sister to address my attitude was rough. But now there are few who can speak into my life with the impact that she does. Jordan is one of the best listeners I know, but when she speaks - pay attention. It's not hard to do because she gets right to the point! (among our friends this is known as "the chin quiver" - when Jordan gets passionate she hits right on the mark!) I love that about her. She speaks the truth to me whether I want to hear it or not. My stubborn heart needs that.

People have told us that we bicker like an old married couple. We laugh, because we know it's true. But it's taught us how to resolve conflicts quickly. There is so much we have learned from each other and continue to learn. After so many years doing everything together it took a bit to adjust to the fact that we have completely separate interests. She can spend hours doing crafts of all kinds (knitting, quilting, sewing, etc. I swear the girl is a 70 year old woman in a 21 year olds body) leaving me completely bored. While I spend hours writing and she's probably read only about a half dozen of my blog posts.

One of the things that I'm most grateful for is that Jordan has taught me how to laugh at myself. I take things way too seriously and make a dramatic big deal out of just about everything. She makes me see things through her eyes and realize how ridiculous I'm being. Jordan reminds me of this verse from Proverbs 31, "She is clothed with strength and dignity and laughs without fear of the future." So often she sees the bigger picture, therefore finding it easier to laugh in the present. There are few things I enjoy more than laughing with my sister.

I have only to look at Jordan to be reminded of the redemptive power of God. There is no way that we would have a relationship apart from Him. I am in awe of the miracle that took place in our relationship 8 years ago and consider it an honor to be a part of this duo. What a privilege to be associated with such a God-fearing, talented, and beautiful young woman!

Jordan, I am so proud of the woman you are growing into. Each talent amazes me with your handmade dresses, beautiful quilts, woven jewelry and perfect pie crusts. Every day I see your heart transformed to look more and more like Jesus. You have the heart of a servant in every way. Thank you for working so tirelessly to serve me. You never complain, though you have every right to. I am so grateful for the example you set for me. I thank God for you, my precious sister. I love you.  

The Cry of Desperation

This is an illustration that I wrote several years ago after reading Luke 18:35-43. I pictured the scene vividly, looking something like this.

The scent of my own sweat was heavy that day as I sat on the edge of the road near Jericho. I listened to the cicadas buzzing, keeping my ears tuned for the sound of footsteps. There hadn't been many travelers on the road that day. I ran my fingers inside my empty alms bowl, wondering if I would be able to find a meal that evening - my only meal for the day. My stomach growled at the thought of food, and I sighed.

In the distance I heard voices, coming towards me slowly. Before long, multitudes of people were passing me by on every side, pressing me to stand and pushing me further off the road. Confused, I asked where all these people were coming from and someone told me, "The Great Rabbi, Jesus of Nazareth, is passing by Jericho!" The Rabbi? Jesus? Could this be the great teacher I'd heard so much about? My cousin told me of how He'd recently healed ten lepers in a village of Galilee. There was rumor that He was the Messiah, the one we'd waited for, our Redeemer. I heard that He healed the blind before. Surely He could heal me. But how would He even see me? There were many people here. I heard voices all around me. How could I get His attention? How do I even know where He is?

Before I could stop myself I lifted my voice and began to cry out, "Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me!" I knew I looked like a madman. "Jesus! Have mercy on me!" I felt heat rush up my face in embarrassment as I struggled to make myself heard over the crowd of voices. The people closest to me grew quiet and I could feel the judgmental stares. I pushed aside my shame and continued to cry, "Have mercy on me, Jesus! Jesus!" Someone shoved against me roughly and said, "Be quiet man! Don't disturb the master with your yelling!" Even still, as the crowd continued to move past me I lifted my voice louder, straining to make myself heard. My mouth and throat were coated with dust stirred by the crowd. I couldn't stop now! I had hope. Hope that I would see the Son of God. Desperation grew in me and I cried out with urgency, "Son of David, have mercy on me! Jesus! Have mercy on me!"

I soon realized that the constant shove toward the city ceased. I paused to listen, trying to understand why they stopped. In the distance a voice gave a command that I couldn't quite hear. People around me started murmuring and whispering. I heard a woman ask, "What is the Master going to say to him?" Him? Who did she mean? Someone nearby muttered in frustration, "The whole crowd is stopping because that blind fool couldn't keep his mouth shut!" I don't think he cared that I heard him. I felt the stillness grow before I heard it. Suddenly, a man took hold of my arm and spoke, "The Master would like to see you. I will lead you to Him." One of His followers began to lead to me through the crowd to the place where Jesus stood. I stumbled behind him, sure that my beating heart could be heard by all those standing in silence around me.

You did not need to tell me the moment I stood before the Son of David. His very presence was one of authority - yet not authority that induced fear. Rather, my heart became still in perfect peace. The multitude collectively held their breath, awaiting His words. Would He rebuke me? Touch me? Send me away? He simply asked me a question, "What do you want me to do for you?" Relief flooded my mind, I felt as though I were a child being offered a wish for my greatest desire. But this was no wish - the man before me was the very Son of God who could bring the impossible to pass. Overcome with emotion, my request came through a sob, "Lord, that I may receive my sight!" Oh! I will never forget His words to me! "Receive your sight; your faith has made you well." Immediately my eyes were opened and I saw! Oh, the light! The Light! The Light of the World flooded my darkness. And from that moment forward I knew I would follow Him.

I plan on following this with a post about the desperate cries of our hearts. But in the meantime...


Have you ever cried out in desperation? What was the response?

Snapshots

Why is it that when someone takes an unannounced blog hiatus, they feel the need to provide excuses or somehow explain the absence? It's an unspoken pressure - and I know I'm not the only blogger who feels it.

So yes, I took an unannounced hiatus. All I know to tell you is that my inspiration fled for a time. But it has returned. My hands are itching to write once again. I can feel the fountain of words bubbling beneath the surface, and I am relieved.

But until the time that those words find their way these digital pages I thought I might share a few pictures with you - my blog followers - of what I've been up to for the last two months. You can actually see where my renewed inspiration comes from.

Jordan and I visited Houston with some dear friends of ours. We took a day trip to Austin, TX where the photo below was taken in this great crafty antique shop on Congress. Austin is a great city!

Me, Jordan {sister}, and Arielle

We had some grand adventures and tried new things (as always) like Coconut water that we got from a Malaysian Restaurant! Jaclyn (our friend in Houston) knows all these great places for great food! We wandered around Chinatown seeing odd sites and avoiding Durian Fruit every time we turned around. Jaclyn and her husband Orlando are as fabulous as my big sisters. And if you know me, you know my big sisters are pretty spectacular.

Jordan, Me, Jaclyn and Arielle

If you have been on Pinterest for any length of time it's likely that you seen this idea to give 60 memories for a fathers 60th birthday. This was inspiration defined! Our beloved Poppie turned 60 years old at the end of October and we managed to gather notes and letters from friends old and new, co-workers, church members, neighbors, and family.

Jordan stamped all 60 envelopes

I was absolutely overwhelmed to see the ways my father has effected so many lives. I plan on publishing what I wrote to him here on the blog sometime soon. This project produced many tears and much laughter, and our Poppie was so very blessed by it.

Tears as they were read aloud.

At the beginning of November Jordan and I decided to take a spontaneous trip back up The Natchez Trace where these adventures happened. This time were were going camping and hiking!

Me at the Parkway Entrance 

We had a great time hiking all 13 miles of trails in Tishomingo State Park. Even though most of the leaves had fallen, it was still beautiful!

Our shadows on Swinging Bridge over Bear Creek

We did a lot of smiling

We also listened to this song a lot on this trip. I love this group. You can download it for free here.

And finally, over this past Thanksgiving weekend, I turned 23.  I had an amazing time with my family and got some great gifts (Thank you Jordan for Bonhoeffer on Radio Theatre). As an excuse to get out of the house Jordan and I took my niece, Leah, and got manicures (in pale neutral shades).

Of course we did. 

I've got to tell you guys that my niece is one of the most amazing teenagers I've ever met. It shouldn't surprise me, because she has some great parents. I enjoyed every moment with her, as you can see from the pictures below.

A very happy birthday indeed

We got our "no evils" a little out of order

And y'all. This chick is gor-ge-ous. If my future children are even half as beautiful as my nieces, this family is going to have to take stock in the weapons industry.

Photo from my shoot with her this weekend.

I can't tell you the last time I've enjoyed my family so much. And still am. We made some lovely memories.

So the loveliness continues. I love the holidays. I love cuddling under a blanket (new new fluffy, fleecy one!) with some tea to watch old Christmas movies. I'm looking forward to an entire month of these kind of indulgences. It's the simple things...

milktea with honey #favorite

Oh, How I Love Jesus

I was killing time in Baton Rouge today, so I stopped in on my mom at work. She works at a retirement center as a Registered Nurse. My mother has always loved working with the elderly. And I've always enjoyed visiting the nursing homes she's worked at, getting to meet her "favorites". My mom has an eye for picking out the "characters" among a group of people. In our family we would say they are "Such a person, such a person." 

A few weeks ago Momma was telling us about one "Such a person" at the retirement center, Ms. Lassiter*. Ms. Lassiter loves to sing in the hallways - loudly and often. And she often picks a favorite tune, singing it over and over again, much to the chagrin of the other wheelchair bound patients within earshot. I heard Ms. Lassiter today before I met her. I was sitting across from my mom in her office near the nurses station when a faint voice that would rarely be classified as "singing" came from the hallway.

Oh, how I love Jesus..


Her voice was timid in that first line.

Oh, how I love Jesus..


She gained confidence with the second line, putting the emphasis in the perfect place of Jesus' name.

Ooh, how I love Jesus..


The strains of her voice were high pitched, and shook as though her vocal chords were seized by Parkinsons.

Because He first loved me!

Ms. Lassiter croaked out the last line with such conviction, tears sprang to my eyes. My mother got up from her desk and led me into the hallway to be introduced. I could only grin as I laid eyes on this frail, shriveled woman who looked well over 90 years old. "This is my daughter, Bekah, Ms. Lassiter. You just blessed her heart with your song!" I looked into her clouded eyes, not sure she could see me, so I took her hand and said, "Nice to meet you! I loved it!" She grinned up at me and exclaimed, "I love to sing! I just love to sing! So whenever I feel led to sing, I just let it out! I don't care who hears me!" I assured her that I loved to hear her song, and our Lord loves to hear it too.

My mother soon had to answer a phone call, so I made my exit shortly thereafter in order to not be a hindrance. Ms. Lassiter wasn't much to listen to. If she'd been singing almost anything else, I might have been tempted to giggle a bit. But instead I found myself crying as I drove away. All I could think of was the scripture saying, "The Lord inhabits the praises of His people." no matter how humble those praises are. I know that my Heavenly Father took great delight in the unashamed, absolutely abandoned praise of His child in the hallway of that retirement home. I like to think He let me in on a little bit of His delight. And He showed me that this is how He desires all of His children to love Him - with abandon - because He first loved us.

I'm not sure if I entertained any angels today, but I know that an angel entertained me.

*not her actual name

The Glass Heart

This is the first of several personal stories that I'll be posting during the next few weeks. They are stories of Gods redemption in my life and I finally feel free to share them. A few of you may be familiar with this one of my Glass heart. I first shared it at a purity banquet several years ago.


Once upon a time, not so long ago, a man loved a little girl. He watched over her as she grew and knew every freckle and curl. He was her Guardian, her hero and His presence was enchanting. There were many nights she spent curled up next to Him, learning His stories so well she could repeat them backwards.

It was on such an evening that the man presented a gift to the little girl who was now becoming a young lady. In wonder, she lifted an exquisite, hand-crafted glass heart out of the box. She marveled at its beauty and promised to treasure it close. Several times her Guardian offered to keep it safe for her, but she always laughed Him off, wanting the world to see the beauty in the heart He'd created.

As she grew older, the time spent with her Guardian grew sparse. There were occasional evenings she spent with Him and in those moments He would plead with her to let Him guard the heart, warning of its fragility. But she only held it tighter, dismayed that He would try to take something so precious to her.

It wasn't long until there was some distance between herself and her Guardian. Before she knew what was happening she was swept off her feet by a handsome young man. She was delighted by his exclamations of  her beauty. The young lady was convinced that when she showed him her beautiful glass heart he would admire its value. So, she gave it to him in hope of showing him how much she'd grown to love him. She trusted him to protect it for her.

The handsome young man accepted this gift with all the awe the young lady could've imagined. Dreams of forever began to fill her head. They were happy. For a while. Then, he got a little careless and the glass heart was chipped and cracked, but not ruined. The young man persuaded her that he would be more careful, and though she was disappointed, she let him keep it. But weeks passed and the cracks in the heart grew larger instead of being repaired.

The young lady eventually saw that her handsome young man had no intention of caring for her heart. She made a decision and determined not to be persuaded out of it - she was going to get her heart back and leave. So, she timidly approached the young man who had the delicate heart carelessly shoved into his pocket.
"I want my heart back." She said, while holding out her hand
He tossed it into her palm saying, "Take it. I have no use for this. What did you expect?"
Without responding the young lady closed her hands around the heart, turned and ran - until she could run no longer. She found a hiding place, fell to her knees and wept. Her palms opened to reveal bloody shards piercing them. In her haste to get away the glass heart was shattered in so many pieces. Only the skillful hand of the man who crafted it could make sense of the mess.

After her tears were spent she got up and began the journey back to the home of her Guardian. Her enchantment with the handsome young man had led her far from home. The last thing she wanted to do was show her Guardian the heart, broken as it was. She remembered all of his cautious words and could picture the disappointment in His eyes. On her way back she tried many things to put the heart back together. And some things would work. For a while. And then the heart would break all over again. Still she continued on.

Just when she got to the door of her Guardians home she panicked and concealed the pieces of her heart in her satchel, deciding not to reveal its brokenness. He opened the door and embraced her warmly. The young lady sobbed and muttered apologies for not coming sooner. She was taken in, cleaned up, and given her old room back.

For many days she rested, wondering what to do about the broken heart. The young lady and her Guardian went on daily walks where they talked about all manner of things, but He never asked about it. She knew He was waiting for her to explain. Many weeks went by, becoming months. Months that she couldn't bring herself to show Him the pieces of the once beautiful glass heart.

One evening they sat together watching the sunset in content silence. She sighed and leaned against Him, soaking up the last bit of the suns warmth. As the last rays disappeared on the horizon He leaned down and said close to her ear, "Beloved, it's time." Her heart accelerated and she nodded up at Him, knowing exactly what He meant. The young lady led the way to her room. There she opened a small chest that held the pieces of her heart and slowly laid each one on the desk like a scattered puzzle. They were there a long time while she cried and told Him the story of her broken heart. He looked at her with compassion then collected each piece, wrapping it in a handkerchief and without a word, slipped out the door. She slept peacefully that night, relieved she no longer had to protect the secret of her heart.

The heart was not mentioned and the young lady knew without asking that He would take care of it. Months passed, during which she spent time learning from her Guardian and talking with Him. She grew nourished and healthy. There were occasions when she wondered what became of the broken pieces but she never asked.

The young lady was studying one day when her Guardian came and pulled her aside. With a radiant grin on His face He brought a box from behind His back and held it out to her. She stared, open-mouthed. Slowly she reached into the box and pulled out a glass heart. Not just any glass heart. Her glass heart. It looked identical to the original, only without a chip, crack, or flaw.

As silent, joyful tears slid down her cheeks the young lady knelt before this man and held the heart out to Him saying, "This heart can only ever belong to one person. Its maker. You alone are worthy of its treasure. I love you Jesus."

The End is yet to come...


I told the back-story of this allegory after initially publishing this. You can read it here.