There are some things I could change if I could hop in a time machine and ride back through the galaxies to a spot in my life where I saw the road, I felt the dirt underneath my feet, and yet I turned the other way. Headed for the brambles because that path looked more exciting, more adventurous, because I heard bacchanal music sifting through the dark trees. I'll find my way back, I rationalized, so I stepped from the path and promised myself to return back should I get dirty, get scared, get close to losing my head. But the thing about dancing is that you have to continue until the music is over. And if it never ends...
There was a season in my life when I thought I was done growing. I thought that I knew what I wanted to do with my life, my relationships, thought that my own hands were strong enough from those silly little five-minute daily curls to patch myself up should I find tears in the armor. I was like Dorothy, walking straight through those poppies even though I could feel myself getting sleepy and heard my companions yawning next to me.
The thing is, I am only just now discovering who I am. Even after years of living with myself, listening to myself talking, feeling myself listening, watching my shadow trail me down all those wrong roads, myself has actually been taking itself apart to replace me with something else.
My little sister and I watched this movie called The Encounter today. It was one of those strangers-meet-guy-who-claims-to-be-Jesus films, and at first it was slow. But after a while, the amiable smile of the man playing Jesus and the words taken from the Bible about Him pursuing each character began to sink in.
You know that gentle feeling when something happens in your heart, and you are being picked off the ground, your clothes are being straightened around your exhausted body, and even though you know you're going to have to fight all over again because of your stupid choices, a warm breath says into your ear, "You're going to be fine. I love you, and I have your back." That feeling of invincibility, of a power surge, as though your finger was just thrust into an electrical socket or you just won the lottery...that feeling of being loved when your boyfriend or girlfriend smiles at you in a way that lets you know you're being watched and treasured for every move you make, that warmth of arms around you and acceptance among good friends, the invitation to the holy feast...that's mine. That's my Jesus.
What I didn't realize when I walked through the forest that I had narrowly escaped a band of robbers. As I lumbered along to my demise, following other people and listening to other voices, dancing with other people and thinking that my worth was found in how good I made them feel, the music had so deafened my ears that I did not hear cries behind me as my Lover was beset by the robbers. I danced with those strange masked faces in the woods, following their steps instead of finding my own, wasting my time. The night passed and the morning came...and then something strange happened. The music quieted. Everything fell away as my hand fell from my empty partner's and I was surrounded by my strange dance fellows. Faces leered, hands reached out to snatch me away, mouths opened to bite and nails shook from sleeves to scratch.
And then a hand slid into mine. Veins wrapped around the back, dirt was crusted beneath the nails, the skin was cracked from work and labor and malnourishment, and at the base of the hand were bloodstains, bright red contrasting dark skin. But the hand was strong, and hot, and pulsing with life, and as I looked down at it, I thought it was the most beautiful hand I had ever seen. I cried--I didn't want to be taken away from those I called my friends. But the other arm, as bloody as the hand gripping my fragile fingers, came to circle around my waist, and drew me in to be held against flesh and blood, strength and beauty, a union of souls as I felt my own strength be sucked, then refreshed and renewed and shot through my body, cold as stars thrusting into my very skin and hot as thrilling, shaky-legged love. Then we began to dance.
My Lover pulled me away from the forest, brought me out of the dark. We danced until we reached the road where His blood still stained the dirt. His blood rubbed against my own bare skin, and I sobbed to see it.
"You did this for me?" I hiccuped, feeling foolish, feeling selfish for giving my heart to someone else. He smiled and leaned over, our legs still chasing each other's as we continued our waltz down the road. I felt His breath once more against the side of my face.
"I did this because I loved you. I love you. I love you. I love you..."
"My beloved is mine, and I am his..." (Song of Solomon 2:16a)
