Sun don't go down
purple and scarlet and blue
let me pause here
these precious moments are few
When the moon has taken the sky's throne
and turned all the land to shadow
that's when I dream of the little girl
who once was me.
Twirl me around,
and hold me tight,
tell bedtime stories
and kiss me goodnight
then I'd return to the child I've been
The princess who once was me.
High heels, lace veils,
dresses too long and too loose.
In games I was grown up,
a little bit taller than you.
Now that I'm taller, I long to be smaller,
like the gangly, brown-eyed girl
who once was me.
A tattered shoebox
houses my little girl things
Bits of writing,
pearls, fake diamonds, and rings.
A rose that my Mama once gave to me
A picture of Papa by the sea -
I open it sometimes to have a peak
at the girl that once was me.
Sometimes I go back to simpler days
before the innocence faded away...
how did she escape me, the child I was?
The princess who once was me.
I've asked forgiveness a thousand times if I've asked it once. Still it is on my lips...death dripping, dead deeds rising like bile up from a throat that has long sung the lament and cannot find notes for the joyful song.
How like a widow is she, She who was queen among the provinces has now become a slave. Bitterly she weeps at night, tears are upon her cheeks. Among all her lovers there is none to comfort her. All her friends have betrayed her; they have become her enemies...she finds no resting place. All who pursue her have overtaken her in the midst of her distress. The roads to Zion mourn, for no one comes to her appointed feasts. All her gateways are desolate, her priests groan, her maidens grieve, and she is in bitter anguish. Joy is gone from our hearts; our dancing has turned to mourning. The crown has fallen from our head. Woe to us, for we have sinned! Because of this our hearts are faint, because of these things our eyes grow dim for Mount Zion, which lies desolate, with jackals prowling over it. You, O LORD, reign forever; your throne endures from generation to generation. Why do you always forget us? Why do you forsake us so long? Restore us to yourself, O LORD, that we may return; renew our days as of old unless you have utterly rejected us and are angry with us beyond measure. (Lamentations 1 and 5)
I hear it like the drum beat of my own heart throbbing for sins I cannot repay. I feel it like the taboo of words of confession long on my lips but never sufficing. But He interrupts me in my mutterings of confession, and a simple image crushes my confessing lips until they are bruised with anguish. For He has bled, drop by drop, for this sin I cannot forgive myself for. He has shed every tear, sweat blood in Gethsemane, and hung naked on the tree to cleanse this sin from the book of my life. Erased! Erased! Erased! He calls, as I linger on in self-torment. Does my blood mean nothing to you? Would you shed your own, the sinful river of blood running through human veins that cannot repay, when the perfect Lamb has already been slain for this sin you call unforgivable? Would you spend your days in torment in a prison you've built yourself, when everything I own, I, King of Glory, I would give you freely? Joy unspeakable, cup running over, and you trade it for bitter hyssop and a cup full of vinegar and days full of tears?
And as He whispers, deep in the silent night as I sit on the porch steps and watch the storm clouds rolling in, my house asleep, and my sleep destroyed by nightmares. He whispers something of a princess whose crown was ruined long ago. He whispers He doesn't care; He sings of rescue. Something about a castle where that princess was captive. Something about throwing out curses and drawing lines in the sand, and gathering the stones into piles that would have been hurled my way (John 8). Restoring crowns, and redeeming all of us, sinners, scandalous, scorched and scourged.
Your throne, O God, will last for ever and ever; a scepter of justice will be the scepter of your kingdom.You love righteousness and hate wickedness; therefore God, your God, has set you above your companions by anointing you with the oil of joy. Daughters of kings are among your honored women; at your right hand is the royal bride in gold of Ophir. Listen, O daughter, consider and give ear: Forget your people and your house of old. The king is enthralled by your beauty; honor him, for he is your lord. All glorious is the princess within [her chamber]; her gown is interwoven with gold. In embroidered garments she is led to the king; led in with joy and gladness to enter the palace of the king. (from Psalm 45)
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