She is scared and so, so young, barefoot and vulnerable, clutching dirty rags of comfort which are stained with tears and the pain of living. Her eyes are wide in fear and wonder and she plays pretend in the shadows of the branches, never moving past the shady reach of their fingertips. Here the years pass and she grows, huddled in the crevices of the tree which is her safe haven of exposure; the branches are too tall for her to reach and she is not strong enough to climb up the trunk on her own. She has seen the meadow which expands far beyond the perimeter of her tree, gazing out at the horizon, desperately wanting to search out the vast land before her but too afraid to move beyond where she feels she is bound. While she dreams of freedom decay will slowly creep through the dirt, the winter will come and the tree will be barren, and with each season of hardship and loneliness she will grow harder and harder, clutching closer the dirty rags of her comfort, which grow more tattered with every passing year. But she has seen the shadows of a man.
He dances through this meadow and flings His arms wide, beckoning her out from beneath the shadows of her tree to dance with Him. He is dancing for her, all around her, in freedom that she has never known. Her heart beats in exhilaration at the thought of touching His hand, at joining Him in this dance of freedom and life, but her mind burns with the shame of her condition. She clutches the dirty rags of comfort closer, yearning for the glance of His eyes to match hers and devour her, to seek her out and find her, but she keeps her eyes low for fear of finding what she so desires. But in the shadows she watches Him dance, and all the winds and the waves and the tremors of the earth could not match the burning ache she has in her heart to run with all abandon to this man who sings life into the bones of the earth and there dance with Him until all of time disappears. She watches, hungry, and clutches the rags of her comfort close, trying to press them into the spaces between her ribs to fill the longing she has to know this man, to sing His song.
He steals glances in her direction, dancing and spinning, but does not come too close. He steals glances in her direction and flings His arms wide, beckoning her to join Him. And she grows and grows, clutching her rags and tip toeing towards the edges of her safe haven, watching with wild eyed wonder as He leaves gardens of life in the wake of His steps. Tears stream down her face and water the roots of the tree which is her home - they are tears of pain and longing, of wrenching beauty that she cannot put to words, they well up from the deepest parts of her soul and come, flowing like rivers, slipping through her fingertips. Still He dances, stealing glances at her and weaving through the gates of time, springing up mountains from His footfalls and oceans from the sweep of His hands. He beckons her and dances closer, breathing His song like embers of fire that float to her outstretched hands.
He is weaving Himself into her heart, though she does not yet know it.
She takes one step further, and her body quivers with the desire to be free.
He is dancing, and as His body moves all the earth begins to sing. The rhythm of her heart begins to speed up as He dances faster and faster, all around her, and she clutches her dirty rags of comfort close, screaming for freedom from her invisible captors, wishing the roots of the tree could be dug up and the great beast torn down so that sun might shine through it's thick covering, so that she could run from it's grip. He dances, faster and faster, and she watches with painstaking breaths, her lungs expanding with every glance of His eye, her grip on the rags of comfort loosening with His every step. She takes one more step and looks back at her tree, back at her home, and finds that she is just outside the reach of the branches and she is safe. He is dancing faster and faster until she catchers her breath in wonder at her nakedness before Him - and suddenly, He stops.
All of the air is still and the earth silent, the wind hangs in the caverns of the mountains and the blades of grass that swayed with the movements of His dance freeze in perfect harmony. The dirty rags of comfort she has held for so long slip through her fingers, finding home in the dust. They turn to ashes and flowers begin to grow out of their remains. She turns her face to the sky with eyes closed and all of the dirt falls from her skin as new life soaks through her being. When she opens them, her eyes are locked with the fiery eyes of love, the fiery eyes of the man who danced for so long, beckoning her into freedom. He holds His hand out to her and she steps forward in joy, wild and free. Her hand finds home in His and as they dance all of life begins again and the sun rises anew, pouring light through the sky and into the world, illuminating the hollows of every shadow.
Her only longing is always for one more dance with this man who will never let her go, and on and on they make melody with the world, dancing for eternity. It is only after she has danced with Him for many years, learning His shape and His body, feeling His every move in her own being, reading every expression in His fierce gaze and letting Him lead her with His heartbeat, that she looks back to her own tree and sees that it has grown tall and strong, bearing fruit that is laden with gladness, watered so long ago by the tears of sadness and longing from her youth, but fed with the sunlight of her victorious freedom. This place is now full of peace, a place of rest where she can stop beneath the branches and run her hands down the trunk, now lifted high by the strong arms of the one she loves to grasp at the fruit she could not have reached on her own, that could never have been born had she never caught sight of the shadow of a man, dancing in the light, beckoning her into His arms. She takes this fruit and it's seeds, giving it to the winds, burying it in the sand, letting it be swept away by the sea. Then she turns back to the one she loves and His beckoning eyes and they dance, across oceans and mountains, each day more beautiful than the one before, each melody composing creation in it's rarest, purest form, singing freedom over every heart.
Throw down your rags of comfort, they sing together, and come into this glorious light.
