(The Rib Wasn't Enough to Save) Our Hearts.

My dear, dear sisters, I know the curse. I know your desire will be for him and he will rule over you, I know. I watch it, I live it, I get it. I too, am a woman. I too, have measured my value by the light of approval (more often, the lack) that sparks (or fails to) in a man's eyes. I have tailored my beauty to the rhythm of their compliments, I have weighed the words (or silence)--I have found, always found, myself wanting.

But, when. I stop looking at me, stop looking at them, and start looking at you, I see something else. The grace in your step, the strength in your eyes. It causes me to wonder. To catch my breath, to pause and stare. I see you, and I say: My God! Your daughters are lovely.

I once burned with jealousy, to see your beauty. You were filled to the brim with beautiful things--I found each and every one. And I hated every wonderful piece of your heart, every flawless line that shaped your face. I despised you, because I saw the way you drew their eyes away from me.

But, then. I met the Lover who broke the curse. He stripped away my shame and clothed me in (such perfect!) light. He whispered, My darling, there is no flaw, and I saw myself (reborn). I saw who I was, who I am and will be.

What I saw was all-beautiful, and I knew I would never need their eyes again.

And now I see you. I see your loveliness, and I do not fear it, anymore. We are more lovely together; we are symphonies and tapestries, we are bright-burning souls that shine like stars.

But it breaks my heart, beautiful ones, to see the way you tear your (beautiful, beautiful) selves apart, tugging your heartstrings from the seams of every doubt and insecurity that haunts the stitches of your scars--the remnant of the wounds their arms (or absence) burst open. It breaks my heart, beautiful ones, that you do not see your self, but only the distorted reflection in the darkened mirrors of their eyes.

Sisters, I beg you: See what I see. Look into the Lover's eyes, and believe the words He promised me: You are altogether lovely; you are altogether free.

Jealous for Me.

He is a jealous God. It's a phrase I've heard often enough within the Church, usually followed by hurried explanations regarding the difference between human jealousy and divine jealousy, a swiftly-constructed barricade against any thought that our Creator's jealous nature might in some way mirror our own version of jealousy--petty, selfish, and insecure.

Still, in spite of the explanations, God's jealousy was never my favorite attribute to dwell on. It didn't bring the comforting warmth that came with considerations of His beauty and love and grace, or even the solid pulse of justice that arose from thoughts of His righteous anger.

But then (I'm learning my stories are full of buts). God gave me a revelation.

Yes, I am a jealous God. I am too jealous for you to let anything come between us. Nothing can stand in My way. As I have already spoken: Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation.

And I suddenly felt so safe. He is jealous for me. He's not going to give up, though my fickle heart falls for false lovers and frail idols. He won't allow me to live with a divided, broken heart. He'll never relent, until He has it all. My complete attention, my whole heart, wrapped in His perfect embrace. It will be the most beautiful of days. It will be the day when all is set right.