Softening
She usually shows up late. Tonight was no different. The lights were already dimmed and the people were engaged in their various levels of signing or not singing. Some swaying and some still whispering and looking around.
A friend of mine whom I am only somewhat familiar with; I notice her arrival. She cruises halfway down an empty isle, gently sets her things down on the chair, and turns to face the stage. The soft lighting reveals that it is indeed my friend. Mostly petite, but still curvy, plain face with big brown eyes and brown hair. Tonight it's in a bun. Done quickly, lots of hair not tucked away.
Beautiful.
In the half second I have to absorb this view, my learned reaction to this situation is to throw every wall and defense I have at it. This is certainly an attack I have fallen for in the past. The soft eyes, skin, curves and light. Oh yeah, we've seen this before haven't we? And we ain't fallin' for that one again are we? The road to destruction this is. Those innocent intentions always trap and kill you from the inside out. We know this.
Walls, Walls, Walls. Up they go, super quick. A regrettable but necessary action. Maybe not an action, but more of a reaction. Self preservation. A conditioned Pavlovian response. All in a half second the semi-choice to wall up is only momentarily accompanied with shame until my conscious reminds my bruised little heart all the pain and trouble that this kind of beauty, and the pursuit of it, have caused in the past. This is the responsible thing to do. You can't afford another break. Another heartache like that and you'll snap. No sir. This isn't fear. This is wisdom.
All in a half-second.
But to one half there is another . And just as quick as that second started, it finished. What had a familiar beginning took a turn for the more interesting. The peculiar and the inspiring.
If you'll recall, she arrived late and set her things down on her chair. She turned to the stage to join the rest of the group. However, prior to doing so, before joining in song and in worship, she bows her head. Not much. Just enough. Ever so slightly. Gently. There's just enough light from the stage to reveal that her eyes are closed. I am blessed enough to be in a position to notice her reverent act. If directly behind her, I wouldn't have noticed. Fore sure, I'm probably the only one in the room that did.
A prayer. One meant to prepare oneself for the moments to follow. I am familiar. What I am not too overly familiar with is witnessing this act. I myself, sadly, hardly make a sincere effort to do this but maybe once a month. That's one out of four worship services. It may not even be that often. But I certainly never catch anyone else doing it any longer.
I looked away. To me, this is a sacred moment. I feel like I'm prying as someone meets with their maker. Taking the time to pause, redirect focus, re-acclimate to reality, and humble themselves in preparation for something they want their soul or being to be sure not to miss. So I turned my head. Over the next several seconds and minutes and moments, my walls came down. I tried not to glance back over, but I did a few times. Reassuring what I thought I had seen. My brain understanding that in fact, in reality, women are of course not evil in and of themselves. Naturally they are like the rest of us.
It is the heart that usually fights this idea. The gentle heart that runs and hides at the first sight of attraction. But now the heart-- my heart-- sits still, calm, and reassured. The myth of the graceful woman, fearing God and humbling herself before him, in hopes that he might meet with her and show her mercy... the myth, or so my heart says; is alive and well, right in front of me.
I try to fight it but the image is too strong. I make up stories in my head to convince myself that this isn't true. "She knows people are watching. She's just putting on a show." Surprisingly the image has won me over. The simple sight of a beautiful young lady, my greatest fear, has won my heart over again. The roles have been reversed and my heart now defends her while my brain is attacking that which I know is genuine.
Even if it isn't. Genuine that is. For now I can choose to believe that it is. I finally have enough hope in me to be willing to believe that this scene before me is genuine...
...and that is a pretty big deal.
A friend of mine whom I am only somewhat familiar with; I notice her arrival. She cruises halfway down an empty isle, gently sets her things down on the chair, and turns to face the stage. The soft lighting reveals that it is indeed my friend. Mostly petite, but still curvy, plain face with big brown eyes and brown hair. Tonight it's in a bun. Done quickly, lots of hair not tucked away.
Beautiful.
In the half second I have to absorb this view, my learned reaction to this situation is to throw every wall and defense I have at it. This is certainly an attack I have fallen for in the past. The soft eyes, skin, curves and light. Oh yeah, we've seen this before haven't we? And we ain't fallin' for that one again are we? The road to destruction this is. Those innocent intentions always trap and kill you from the inside out. We know this.
Walls, Walls, Walls. Up they go, super quick. A regrettable but necessary action. Maybe not an action, but more of a reaction. Self preservation. A conditioned Pavlovian response. All in a half second the semi-choice to wall up is only momentarily accompanied with shame until my conscious reminds my bruised little heart all the pain and trouble that this kind of beauty, and the pursuit of it, have caused in the past. This is the responsible thing to do. You can't afford another break. Another heartache like that and you'll snap. No sir. This isn't fear. This is wisdom.
All in a half-second.
But to one half there is another . And just as quick as that second started, it finished. What had a familiar beginning took a turn for the more interesting. The peculiar and the inspiring.
If you'll recall, she arrived late and set her things down on her chair. She turned to the stage to join the rest of the group. However, prior to doing so, before joining in song and in worship, she bows her head. Not much. Just enough. Ever so slightly. Gently. There's just enough light from the stage to reveal that her eyes are closed. I am blessed enough to be in a position to notice her reverent act. If directly behind her, I wouldn't have noticed. Fore sure, I'm probably the only one in the room that did.
A prayer. One meant to prepare oneself for the moments to follow. I am familiar. What I am not too overly familiar with is witnessing this act. I myself, sadly, hardly make a sincere effort to do this but maybe once a month. That's one out of four worship services. It may not even be that often. But I certainly never catch anyone else doing it any longer.
I looked away. To me, this is a sacred moment. I feel like I'm prying as someone meets with their maker. Taking the time to pause, redirect focus, re-acclimate to reality, and humble themselves in preparation for something they want their soul or being to be sure not to miss. So I turned my head. Over the next several seconds and minutes and moments, my walls came down. I tried not to glance back over, but I did a few times. Reassuring what I thought I had seen. My brain understanding that in fact, in reality, women are of course not evil in and of themselves. Naturally they are like the rest of us.
It is the heart that usually fights this idea. The gentle heart that runs and hides at the first sight of attraction. But now the heart-- my heart-- sits still, calm, and reassured. The myth of the graceful woman, fearing God and humbling herself before him, in hopes that he might meet with her and show her mercy... the myth, or so my heart says; is alive and well, right in front of me.
I try to fight it but the image is too strong. I make up stories in my head to convince myself that this isn't true. "She knows people are watching. She's just putting on a show." Surprisingly the image has won me over. The simple sight of a beautiful young lady, my greatest fear, has won my heart over again. The roles have been reversed and my heart now defends her while my brain is attacking that which I know is genuine.
Even if it isn't. Genuine that is. For now I can choose to believe that it is. I finally have enough hope in me to be willing to believe that this scene before me is genuine...
...and that is a pretty big deal.