24 January, 2014

Visionary Storytime Fridays - Introducing the Hope of Recovery


Light shines brighter at night. These years have proven it so. I am no longer defined by the night. What I did before has been cleansed at the cost of Christ. I am becoming the noble maiden that god longs me to be, but by no means have I been completed. I am restore to who I was to the core, and am slowly drawing nearer to the identity He made in me. However, even in knowing this all to be true, my past still comes to haunt me, and I fear the shadows shall take me again. I am afraid that I'll be so discouraged by the times that, once again, I shall lose recollection, and forget ho I am. I hated my life as it had been when it happened last time. I refuse to return to that lifestyle. But unease and unrest takes my heart, and in their hands they sow hopelessness, shame, a longing for death, and despair. Though such darkness come to snuff it, my candle remains a soft, warm, comforting glow to others, holding me firm in the hope of Christ. But, still, though my flesh threatens to end this suffering this instant, my spirit, my new heart, gently, yet firmly says no. I don't wish to persevere anymore, but I keep hearing kind words urging me on to continue the good fight, push on because it shan't always be like this. But still... Where is this said hope for us all? And then I answer my own question; Our Hope is all around us. He's in our air. He's in the land. He's above, below, beside, and before us. He guides us and is in our very hearts. Immanuel. Jehovah. Yaweh. The Great I AM. Jesus Christ. The WAY, THE TRUTH, & THE LIFE. Amen, it is so. 
As Persephone Smith finished up the script in her journal, in the dimly lit room. She signed her name in beautiful script. Finally sealing the journal with red wax. She raised her head, and faced the mirror, revealing her auburn ringlets cascading as a fountain over her bare shoulders. Deep in the eyes, she saw the sorrow and wildness of a blue-green ocean. Her complexion soft, her skin fair, but thin and light, barely seen scars marred her face, neck, and shoulders. The flowing and wispy material on her form transparently glowed in the candlelight. She smiled warmly and sighed in her heavy heart. The process of her healing was truly on its way, but she was still afraid. The healer's apprentice... The maiden bard... the crippled warrior in recovery. Hope was molding her into maturity, she was still not ready for her calling, wherever it took her. Whatever it was. It was time to wait for the Lord.

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