His heart beats with redemption’s pulse.
It’s not about an individual’s happiness or a
single man’s pursuit of a woman. Instead
it’s about the rescue of an entire culture—a group of people so distant and so
far past saving that only God Himself could look down and have any hope of
rescue.
They are a pitiful lot, this group of refugees He’s chosen. They have no true home and their wounds are
self-inflicted reminders of the choices they’ve made, the places they’ve been,
the home they no longer have.
Adultress.
Whore.
Liar
Fornicator.
Cheater.
Unfaithful.
Unclean.
Greedy
Gluttonous
Lust
Shame
The list of words tattooed across their flesh continues on
and on, their sins called out against pale flesh for all to read. In the midst of their hopeless mire, He hand
picks them time after time, day after day.
The one with the tattered dress, tattoos of whoredom lining her arms;
eyes dull with blackness. He reaches out
and touches her scars, then washes them.
Her tattoos, those she was told would never go away begin to disappear
from her skin. The indelible ink runs
and fades away to a puddle at her feet and she fingers her new skin—clear, new,
brand new. It’s the exact thing they
told her would never happen.
A Rescuer
has come. New words appear on her arms,
but they are words her eyes have never read, her brain never processed.
Beautiful.
“What is the meaning of this word?” she asks.
He explains the intricacies that enumerate beauty. The sparrow perched on a branch, a new baby’s
cry, the sun peeking over the horizon.
“And this word, Beloved.”
she points at another spot on her arm.
He traces the outline and begins to tell her of the ways she has been
carved into the wall of His heart, so even once it stopped beating He would
still carry her name there.
Lastly, her eyes flutter to her wrist where one word
shimmers brighter than the others, begging to be noticed as if announcing its
eminence…Mine.
She looks into His eyes with knowing and He smiles back.
His.
