๐’ฎ๐“‰๐’พ๐“๐“ ๐•€ ๐•ฃ๐•š๐•ค๐•–.

During my quiet time, the word ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’พ๐“๐“ caught my attention.

๐’ฎ๐“‰๐’พ๐“๐“, typically expressed in the context of quietness whispered a new meaning to me, ๐“ก๐“ฎ๐“ผ๐“ฒ๐“ต๐“ฒ๐“ฎ๐“ท๐“ฌ๐“ฎ. I will admit that I am not particularly fond of this word because of the baggage it carries. Its meaning is not pretty. It does not paint the picture of sunshine and flowers for me. But this time, it hit different.

From the recesses of my mind, I heard Maya Angelouโ€™s Still I rise, and perceived a shift in my heart.

While still treading the soft, yet imposing waves of Mayaโ€™s words narrating the lows of defeat, and the highs of triumphs, the Holy Spirit reminded me of Mark 4:8, โ€œstill other seeds fell on fertile soil, and they sprouted, grew, and produced a crop that was thirty, sixty and even a hundred times as much as had been planted.โ€ 

And I thought yes. Still I rise.

In my life, there have been many seeds planted that didn’t yield. Some fell on rocky places with no substance, others along paths that left them exposed to the elements, and then there were the few, swallowed up by life happenings. ๐’ฎ๐“‰๐’พ๐“๐“ there were seeds that fell on good soil, and the fruits have been gifts that keep on giving.

Maya’s words took me on a journey, one that for a time was on a long stretch of rough terrains, but at the end, I was met with the brilliance of the rising sun.

Jesus. He is who met me at the end of that road. He is why I was able to see beauty even in my beaten state. He is why I am confident that there is hope in the ashes. He is why I walk like i’ve got oil wells pumping in my living room. His word is that well. He is why I laugh like i’ve got gold mines diggin’ in my own backyard. His presence is gold. He is why I dance like I’ve got diamonds at the meeting of my thighs. His heart reveals my worth. He is why into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise, holding steadfast to His promise that joy comes with the morning |Psalm 30:5|.

Jesus was tested, but he was ๐“‡๐‘’๐“ˆ๐’พ๐“๐’พ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐“‰. He was hated for no real reason, lied on, rejected, spat on, slapped, insulted, dragged on dirt roads, laughed at, and murdered ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’พ๐“๐“ (on the third day), he rose.

He rose that I may rise.

He rose that you may rise.

๐’ฎ๐“‰๐’พ๐“๐“, rise. Rise darling, rise.

Happy Monyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! ๐ŸŽ‰

Beacoup love,

Mel.

Image – @pinterest

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