Friends,
I found the following an interesting read:
“For no man ever hates his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, as Christ does for the church.” Eph. 5:29
Love him boldly, not with the corners of your eyes. Let her not see in the stars a wish….let the stars see in her a mate.
Lying on her back, fingers from the left and the right hands converged behind the rear of her head to give a pillow effect. She watched as the stars happily twinkled. On a remote corner of the skies, the clouds seemed to feel left out, especially the grey and dark and black ones. Is that why they move right underneath the stars, clouding them out to claim some attention too? For if they were at all mindful of the stars and their glitter they would consider a highway above the stars for their aimless journey. Or is it the wind speaking to the stars, “If you do not grant me the honor I’m due I’ll huff a stubborn cloud curtain to obscure your glitter into a lifetime of night!”
“Stop looking into space and pay attention to your soul!” she summoned herself to concentration. She was here to search her soul – and now she was searching the skies. But the more she approached her inside the more she was drawn to the outside. Closing her eyes and opening them was one and the same thing – she felt torched from within as she felt illuminated from the outside. Something far out seemed to rhyme with her deep down. As she searched her heart with her thoughts, the random yet ordered dance of the wind, the clouds and the stars too took her through the paces. What happens when frowns take to the floor to dance with smiles? What do you call this dance? She saw as she had felt, admiration so hastily despising. She had felt as she was seeing, hate turning to so intensely loving. Collaboration and conspiracy intertwined as if conspiracy was a kind of collaboration and collaboration a type of conspiracy. The dance she was feeling inside, her eyes were observing outside.
There is nothing like the village sky. It has this inviting power that cranes your neck towards it. Not so in the city. What with all the people who are out to snatch your bag? Dare to look up and the bag in your hand is gone, snatched by one who is tantalized not by twinkling skies but by slinging handbags. So for the love of our bags we drill our eyes into all faces intentionally labeling them all suspect. There are those who walk with the gait of the owners of the city zealously dodging faces choosing instead to gaze into the tunnels between necks. They dodge not because they are shy, but because they fake disinterest and pretend to spit all faces out of their eyes. Their eyes focus on the spaces between the faces, but their minds are face to face with you. They accord you a subordinate corner-of-the-eye view. But like the eyes of an anxious chameleon their minds turn you over and over with admiration.
Clouds. Winds. Stars. Dance. Dance well. Dance carefully. Let the cloudy move not be to mock her step, but to shield her from hurt. Let the wind that is your breath whisper the loudness of his worth. Love him boldly, not with the corners of your eyes. Let her not see in the stars a wish….let the stars see in her a mate.
Pastor Buri E.
