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The Process of Hearing a Redeeming God.

June 10, 2015

“Momma, ” my youngest called and turning in my chair I saw her pencil tracing over her previous elliptical marks… oval after oval, again and again she traces her track.  Her smile beamed.   She turned back to her art.

 

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I know she did not see me cringe.

That  drawing motion always reminds me of being beaten…swung like a rag doll and being told not to scribble.

“Why are you scribbling!? That’s not how you draw… “an angry voice barked at me.

I was three.  A year older than my baby. I was just a baby.

I was little. I remember the white paper and the pencil therapeutically  going round and round while they fought behind me.  At some point they were not arguing with each other and then I wasn’t drawing anymore….

I remember going round and round being knocked about and begging, “it’s Wonder Woman’s lasso.  I am not scribbling.”

But I was very little and my voice did not seem to matter.

 

I shake my head and push it back.  I know these memories well enough and many others like them… I push them back into the old wooden wardrobe  where I keep them tucked away inside me.    I smile back at my baby in this here and now. She picks up yellow and gold crayons.

 

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I watch her hands and then He Speaks… while this baby traces round and round.. He breaks through with vision and sound and He speaks… and  He reminds me of this dream He had given me last fall.  In the dream I was in the center of a spiraling whirlwind of light.  Like a million shades of spun gold it cycloned around.  Layered as high and as low as I could see were moving threads, all many shades from the brightest orangy gold to the whitest buttery yellow and every color in-between.   There were a few thin threads of a turquoise and cerulean  weaving in and out of all the shades of gold and light.  All of them moving and spinning quickly.  Even though it was a dream I was overwhelmed with the most authentic joy I have ever felt in my life.  I could feel it  glow in every fiber of my being. It was everything and all things.  The threads traced each other in an elliptical never ending  dance with no noticeable beginning or end.   I had woken up and tried to paint it… and nothing did that dream justice…..  “I am always with you… Don’t try and explain yourself to evil… you were trying to manifest Truth in your art … this dream was stamped on you long before you ever dreamt it… you keep doing what you were created for… to create…. that image they called scribbling is actually of My making and you saw it…. you were created in My Image… You knew it then… you know it now…. keep bringing it through.”

3 Comments leave one →
  1. Loraine permalink
    June 11, 2015 9:21 am

    I, too, have memories very similar to yours. Mine are no longer locked in the wardrobe. Oh, they are there somewhere way in the back where they no longer define who I am or was.. There is such freedom in not carrying them around with me everywhere I go. Yes, God allows one or two to push to the front every now and then, but only to remind me to be better. Praise God for the victory we have in Him!

  2. June Matthews permalink
    January 22, 2016 3:29 am

    Love this one, it touches a place deep inside me. Thank you for your open honesty sharing your heart with me. I love the way you craft sentences. I’m worried about you. You haven’t posted anything in so long. How are you? Is everything ok? I’ll pray for you and yours.

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