hear me roar.
because roaring is hard sometimes when the world is whispering, "women who aren't good enough should be seen and not heard."
i feel tugged, stretched, a fragile strand of priceless diamonds pulled too hard until...
and then comes the snap, and the clatter of gems across a hardwood floor. the tears come then, as i gather the sparkling remains of what could have been in my palm and weep my own diamonds from heavy eyes and realize that it was nothing but fakes.
and i hold up my twisted string and cubic zirconia in shaking hands to the One who saw me before the beginning of the world. and the Maker of All, the Mighty One, reaches down and takes my bits of nothing and holds them in His nail-pierced palm.
and then He speaks.
not broken. Restored.
not desolate. Renewed.
not forgotten. because I have known you long.
not dirty. washed in My blood.
not forsaken. Mine.
not abandoned. not ugly. not worthless.
Lioness. Warrioress. Princess.
word upon word, reminder upon reminder from this God-Who-Sees. and plastic turns to diamonds as He whispers life to me.
He places the strand around my neck, mended and true and glorious. and that bleeding, broken hand of Glory lifts my chin to meet His gaze.
dearest Daughter, I knew you would not be long in coming to me.
joy shall be yours.
::horse and his boy, c.s. lewis
and i step out to sing with His diamonds around my neck. and when the mirror screams a horrid chant of all that it claims i am, i can meet its gaze with the Glory glittering against my skin.
i am woman.
hear me Exult!