This is what I see,
I see a girl entering a magnificent room. She keeps her head down and I imagine she’s kept it down for a long time. She walks as if she is caring a heavy load and no wonder because she is clothed with massive robes that are too large for her and make movement difficult but yet she still puts one foot in front of the other. She still comes. At the end of the long room, I imagine Jesus sitting on a throne. He is more magnificent than the lavished room around him. His face intent on the small figure coming toward him. His view much different than ours. He sees woven through the fabric of her robes the words of well meaning friends, teachers, family members and even pastors, who told her all the “ways” he wanted her to behave; carefully stitching into her soul who he supposedly was and even sternly directing her intimate interactions with him. And he hears a familiar voice hissing lie after lie: That she is ugly, dirty, despised, guilty, unworthy and insufficient. It’s
