Well, after a while, the cave got damp with her tears and she crawled out to the entrance and squinted because of the glare of the sun.
It felt strangely nice on her skin. But the ache in her soul throbbed more, calling for her attention.
So, she curled up right there at the mouth of the cave and fell asleep.
The night came, the stars twinkled strong, steadily quietly. The moon glared.
The birds were cheery. Almost sounded like they were having a conversation with someone, something bigger than themselves; was it worship? She dared not think too much about it.
She turned over as the sun rose higher and higher. Laughter in the distance. Trees rustling in the wind, cows lowing.
The sun set. The cycle continued. The seasons changed. She turned the sides she lay on.
No conversations. No music from her soul. No sounds. No colour.
Then one day, she sat up slowly. Curious at a flower she newly noticed. It was beautiful.
A ladybird crawled on its petals. A bee briefly visited it and then flew away. The flower had an amazing colour. A sweet aroma.
The weeds were strangling it soon. Something stirred for the first time in her soul.
Indignation.
Something needed to be done. She got up. Muscles, soul and bones atrophied but she needed to get to the flower.
Fast forward 6 years the atrophy had cleared: not all of it though, especially in her soul. It didn't soar quite the same. Her heart didn't beat as it once did.
She secretly worried it really will not despite anything she did. How could she tell a single soul of her worry?
Some part of her soul was deformed in the atrophy, almost like hands labeled by arthritis. The fingers can never return to their original shape.
Fleeting moments of colour, music and love flooded her heart occasionally. But she realised she would have to dig in her heels harder than before.
Then it happened.
A stark contrast.
The beautiful sounds of an exquisite symphony played by the most elaborate orchestra intertwined with the most vivid kaleidoscope of colours.
She found it!
She found it at the saviours feet in worship.
The only effort required is surrender.
The exchange is a flood of rich, true, deep love.
Her soul can not nearly begin to describe the experience what glory takes place when the love, the authority and the holiness of the Lord fills this experience.
She is forever changed every time. To something different each time. Lengths, breadths, depths of her soul she didn't know existed are touched, they come alive with new purpose.
It gently fades.
Quietens.
It becomes still.
Peacefully still.
The dregs of the experience carry on through every moment after that. Like glitter than lingers on longer than you hoped or thought would.
The cave doesn't hold any appeal at all anymore for her. Maybe she should board it up? But maybe someone may need it.
She takes a mental note to check once in a while if another wounded soul lays there.
It would be a pleasure to take them to the Fathers feet, His bossom of love.
It felt strangely nice on her skin. But the ache in her soul throbbed more, calling for her attention.
So, she curled up right there at the mouth of the cave and fell asleep.
The night came, the stars twinkled strong, steadily quietly. The moon glared.
The birds were cheery. Almost sounded like they were having a conversation with someone, something bigger than themselves; was it worship? She dared not think too much about it.
She turned over as the sun rose higher and higher. Laughter in the distance. Trees rustling in the wind, cows lowing.
The sun set. The cycle continued. The seasons changed. She turned the sides she lay on.
No conversations. No music from her soul. No sounds. No colour.
Then one day, she sat up slowly. Curious at a flower she newly noticed. It was beautiful.
A ladybird crawled on its petals. A bee briefly visited it and then flew away. The flower had an amazing colour. A sweet aroma.
The weeds were strangling it soon. Something stirred for the first time in her soul.
Indignation.
Something needed to be done. She got up. Muscles, soul and bones atrophied but she needed to get to the flower.
Fast forward 6 years the atrophy had cleared: not all of it though, especially in her soul. It didn't soar quite the same. Her heart didn't beat as it once did.
She secretly worried it really will not despite anything she did. How could she tell a single soul of her worry?
Some part of her soul was deformed in the atrophy, almost like hands labeled by arthritis. The fingers can never return to their original shape.
Fleeting moments of colour, music and love flooded her heart occasionally. But she realised she would have to dig in her heels harder than before.
Then it happened.
A stark contrast.
The beautiful sounds of an exquisite symphony played by the most elaborate orchestra intertwined with the most vivid kaleidoscope of colours.
She found it!
She found it at the saviours feet in worship.
The only effort required is surrender.
The exchange is a flood of rich, true, deep love.
Her soul can not nearly begin to describe the experience what glory takes place when the love, the authority and the holiness of the Lord fills this experience.
She is forever changed every time. To something different each time. Lengths, breadths, depths of her soul she didn't know existed are touched, they come alive with new purpose.
It gently fades.
Quietens.
It becomes still.
Peacefully still.
The dregs of the experience carry on through every moment after that. Like glitter than lingers on longer than you hoped or thought would.
The cave doesn't hold any appeal at all anymore for her. Maybe she should board it up? But maybe someone may need it.
She takes a mental note to check once in a while if another wounded soul lays there.
It would be a pleasure to take them to the Fathers feet, His bossom of love.
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