colors.

There was a woman who once prayed over me. She said she saw colors. Amazing colors. Color swirls and storms of creativity, of life. I left pissed. She didn’t know that I couldn’t see like that. I never had seen like that. All I could do was taste and feel. I couldn’t see. Brock could. That’s how he painted. That’s how he always seemed to get lost daydreaming and fantasizing. I never understood.

Yesterday I drank freedom. I guzzled hope. I was saturated in peace. I saw colors -extravagant, vibrant, harsh, pale, glaring colors. And I daydreamed.

I was David, screaming his victory to a giant with the assurance of God burning in his heart.

I was Lygia and Vicinius, at once torn and crying out, but confident that the Lord does save.

I was a warrior, cunning, strong, lean, and gallant. I fought with fire, the very flame of the Lord, and no foe stood before me.

I was the striking woman in red, who held in her hand the healing waters of God, wild, alluring, passionate, and strong.

I saw the great angel, with one foot on the sea and the other on land. I sought out the mystery of the thunder.

I was in the arms of my Father and He sang His delight over me. He whispered to me "Come." So I ran after Him. I grew wings. They were His not mine. They made me soar.

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Don't wait for me. I'll come around again, but not now. Not yet. My heart is too busy with what He's given. And so I cry, "Further up! Further in!"