I spit out my life story
let them into a deep place and just trusted that they’d accept me.
Now I sit here with their names listed in my prayer journal and I wonder if I were to ask any one girl to describe herself, would the first
word she uttered be
Do they know how precious they are? I wonder.
I pass my sister on my way into the kitchen,
Her brown hair is parted to the side and flows softly over her shoulders
The pink in her shirt returns my eye to the highlight in her cheekbones
“You’re pretty” I tell her
Why can’t we say this more often
Scream it from rooftops every time we see it.
If I paint something lovely people tell me so.
When God makes beauty in women, we acknowledge it but bashfully keep our words inside our throat
Lets reach deep inside and and let them out. Let the words dance their way into young girls ears and fill them to their toes with truth. Watch their maker smile with satisfaction.
He is an artist and we are his beautiful canvases.