Consecration, Destiny, Musings, Pain, Process, Trials, Wilderness

The Wayward Dancer

Here. Here am I in my entirety, the fullness of my contradiction in my body entirely, the beauty of affliction in my members for what seems like an eternity. What about me and my affliction causes me to call it beauty? I am an enigma to the worlds society; condemned by one, redeemed by another. Through the hail and the storm my body pushes on, not of its own accord but because of what my hope is leant on. I am not my own yet here am I, The Wayward Dancer. Here am I with this sinful cancer, it breathes, it bleeds, it spreads, but only when my eyes are on its master. To turn from my afflicted norm, to deny myself and push through the storm… is what some call suicide, to coincide with the reasoning of flesh and desires of a dead man gone.

But this I will decide. Each and every day of my last and never longing breath, to pick up my past and cast it aside for it is trash – it is the dead man. What I have done and where I have gone does not effect the transgression that is my beautiful affliction. And now to give answer to my self proclaimed title and to my Hope that does not tarry nor wander as my soul might search the sea and it’s ever desiring depths.

I am a man living not of my own accord. A will I have, but have laid it down, this I did today, just this past Morn. Yet again I shall choose, and yet again shall I deny my flesh so that I do not succumb to the numb that eats away. I shall put off self and be clothed in light. I shall walk the treacherous path and with feet soaked in blood I will walk. My road is not an easy one and though I look like one with a debt to death and suicide, I am not and I have none. No debt except to the One who lived and died and rose again.

I am not my own save the day I choose to be. I have surrendered all but my name to Thee who died for me. “He Giveth and He Taketh away.” Or so some say. Yet, are not all His to give and to take as He pleases? A sense of entitlement is quickly squashed as one wanders further down this track of enquirement.

As I meander, as I stride, as I climb, as I suffer, as I run, as I walk, as I scream and yell and tear my way through this dream that breathes in glory inspired by love, I find myself in a place of anxiousness and peace.

Peace because I know this universal expanse is not at my disposal to command or dictate, so my fate is safe not with me but my Lover. And anxious because I am finite and know not always whether I should have turned to the left when I turned to the right or if I should have turned to the right when I turned to the left.

My heart aches but it is being restored. I am new, I am whole. I am noone’s but only one does truly know me.

He knows. He sees. He loves.

On these things I stake my life and my plea.

Oh Father would You meet with me..

Daniel Moreira

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