His Someone

She didn’t have much. What she did have she was probably shameful of. She was nothing. Nothing. To herself, to others. My opinion is that she had probably been told all of her life she wasn’t good enough, so she bought into the lie and lived her adult life that way. Like she was nothing. Worthless.
Now, here she stood. Probably wrapped in some small piece of fabric. Trying to cover herself as they drug her out into the middle of the square. This nothing. This unimportant nothing of a soul, was suddenly the most important thing in their life. She was now their target. They were going to rid the world of her “evil”, of her worthlessness. I wonder if they even let her halfway cover herself. I imagine her looking like a scared animal. Her eyes wide with fear….probably the first real emotion she had felt in years.
I imagine her cowering, maybe even trembling, because she knew what was coming. I wonder if she thought “Wow. All this for me. Me. I’m NOTHING. But suddenly, I’m everything.” Everything wrong. Everything unholy.
These men, rocks in their hands, were making a show out of a “nothing soul”. Not the man they caught her with. But of her. She was the evil. I imagine them as being loud. Screaming and yelling. Spitting on her and lunging at her. Maybe even laughing as she crouched in fear.
She was brought to the temple to be used as a trap. In layman’s terms I can hear the Pharisees saying “ Ahhhhh…. the law of Moses says……what do YOU say?”
BUT….. Yes, but. JESUS steps up by bending down.
He bends down, writes in the sand and waits.
It wasn’t immediate….it wasn’t righteous…..it wasn’t loud….
The reaction to the writing was thuds and footsteps.
Each accuser reading truth written in nothing more than dirt.
Jesus – God in flesh – walks to her. Talks to her. In one small moment, gives her worth. “Where are your accusers? Has anyone condemned you?” I imagine she glanced down at her toes before raising her eyes to meet his
guilt and shame will always make you self conscious –
and then she answered him “No one sir.”
I wonder if he spoke gently. If he looked into her eyes to confirm what he was saying. Any way it happened he declared “Then neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin. “
She was someone’s daughter. No matter her choices, no matter her position, no matter her sin ……. she was someone’s. How often we want to pick up stones, label someone due to their sin, condemn someone due to their past, and kill their spirit with our self proclaimed righteous judgment.
He speaks – or writes in dirt, or simply drenches one in grace and mercy – and speaks

The Dark

It is not the dark allowed by a slow sunset that scares me. It is the dark allowed by ominous clouds that allows no sunlight, no moonlight, and no stars that scares me to my core.

It overshadows me like the blackest ink….. a thick, sticky, seeping darkness that covers my world. It is that darkness, that black ink, that highlights the scarlet in my life. The darkness covers all the colors of the rainbow – except for scarlet. It is as if the scarlet was placed in wax – never penetrated, only magnified.

This darkness brings whirlwinds of words that have been spoken, deeds that have been done, pain, and sorrow. The winds whisper, they beat me, they chafe me. I can not shield myself from them, only succumb to the coarseness as they rip through my world. The darkness only allows for glimpses of scarlet, as I am thrown off balance by the winds.

Will I survive. Should I survive. Do I deserve to survive. They are not questions, they are statements. Statements written in scarlet, written by own hands and hands of others.

Who decides survival? Who decides who is worthy of survival? What is survival if it does not ever lead to life? What is life if it is lived in black and scarlet? Theses are my questions as wind burn stings my skin and pierces my heart.

Yet, I am to walk as though there is illumination. Smile and say that my wind burned skin is actually sun kissed, and my shattered heart is beautiful stained glass. It is expected that I stand tall and proud as the darkness blankets the winds that pick up stones and sling them at my tattered self. It is expected that I proclaim judgement on myself for the sake of others peace. There is no room for regret, remorse, or hurt. Those feelings allow light to penetrate through the darkness, and those who write in scarlet pour the ink as well……

It is this darkness that shrouds my life. It lives and breathes with the names depression and anxiety. It identifies as functioning bipolar.