"Tatted"

TATTED

Those marks on your beautiful green skin tell me a story. The pain and glory of living in a desert place. A routine of protecting self and guarding the wealth inside. You tend to hide in certain seasons with all your reasons and ways of how things can go wrong. Marks of weather and abuse, bad decisions, no excuse, times of drought and near death, for sure. You know what can leave a mark. You’ve seen it, but you’ve also dreamed it too. An unfair thing to do, calling the shots before any damage has been done. But, Beautiful One, you see how the sun is your keeper, healing deeper than your flesh can resolve on its own? You’ve blamed the sun in the past for being rash, but now you have a different view. On your own you cannot see your place, how the scars and spots on your face are marks where new growth begins, and fruit extends, and the blooms — oh, the colors, like neon in the dark — how they mark your world with grace. You, with your kind, the ones you find on the fringes and edges, by the highways and in the hedges are, well, breathtaking. The most vivid blooms are among the marred, not the groomed. You’re the opposite of what we assumed.  (Luke 7:47)