The Dark Place of Womanhood

She stood in the storm of words. They spun around her and cut her in every way. She was beaten, bruised, and wounded with the intangible force of words. She swallowed all the words and the storm immediately subsided. It now raged within instead of without. And though she was full of phrases, insults, and two-faced talk, she was emaciated.

She crumpled herself into a heap, and she was glad to do so. She retreated within herself and replayed the words over and over again. And though all was quiet in the day, her night was filled with the same war over and over again. She relived all that cut her heart in two, and she made it fall to shreds.

And then another woman passed by. This woman looked burdened all the same, the streaks of tears barely dried. The crumpled, angry heap sprung from her retreat and unleashed her harsh words atop the wounded woman. The woman was ravaged by insults and sneers. All the hurt was spilled over to her and she lie down in a heap.

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Both women were cut and bleeding from the intangible force of words…words they had crafted into a storm. The women retreated into themselves and ignored one another, until they saw another passerby. They leaped from their wounds and flung the absolute force of their words to tear another woman apart. The three women splintered one another as they let go of the personal storms raging within.

And the women continued to grow in number as words were crafted into storms and flung aimlessly to make wounds. The valley was filled with lonely heaps of womanhood. They walked wounded and wounded others bitterly. The only way to heal, they thought, was to retreat within, and defend their hearts no matter the cost…no matter the pain caused.

The valley was littered with selfish words and hurting ones. It was filled with gossip, envy, despair and loneliness. It was filled with suffocating pride and pressing fear. The words piled up and the misunderstandings grew to make a false reality. One woman would lunge in self-defense and another would cut her down. One woman would say something holding no malice, but be brought low by many. It was the valley of self, and it was the darkest place for all womanhood.

But there was one woman, tired of war, which looked up into the blue sky. It had been blue all the time, but they had only ever looked down in the damage. Within the blue sky was Truth. In this Truth was forgiveness. In this forgiveness was hope, which gave way to healing. But first the hope began with humility, and the humility gave way to honesty. And this honesty would then make the way for complete healing.

She reached for the Truth, and fell in humility. She was forgiven and the way for healing began. She pressed her hands to her shredded heart and found the wounds…. both the inflicted and the flung. She collected them in her hands, and sorted out the ones caused by bitterness. She let them go and they dissipated into the air. The wounds left were not bitterly held.

She walked by the lonely heaps of womanhood and began speaking honestly. She had wounded many and many had wounded her, but this honesty broke their walls. This gentle transparency stripped their armor. She asked for forgiveness. Her humility made others look into themselves, as they had never done before. They noticed the blue sky, and the Truth of deliverance that had always been available.

And in that darkest part of womanhood, there was transparency, honesty, healing, and hope. The battle of word-craft was abandoned. Joy blanketed the beaten, bruised women and they began building bridges heart to heart, made of forgiveness and love. The littered words could not be erased, for words once said are always said, but they were smeared over in white. This was a beautiful night!

But women are weak and apt to destroy with the intangible force of word-craft. The valley would fill again with the blackness of shredded hearts and forgotten love, but as I unfold from my heap, I see you unfolding from yours. We both look up to the blue sky and remember the Truth that set us free, and the hope we have in the light-filled Son.

Take my hand. Will we move through this dark valley honestly and transparently? Will we abandon the word-craft we so easily use to mutilate? Will we go forth as women of love and hope?

I ask again.

Will we?

 

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