White-Washed Walls

White-Washed Walls As she sat in the back seat quietly hoping to be invisible, Like a breeze that has blown in and placed her there. She waited for words or anything that would take away this pain. She hoped that no one would see her. Or notice what surely everyone must see… How filthy dirty and stained she was. Surely this God of which they spoke Could never have loved one, such as her? Her father had told her of a love But he was like a white-washed wall. He always looked so pure and clean on the outside But on the inside….? Hard and unmoveable The way he could tear you down and when he drank too much… The terrible things he did. As she sat all alone, she wondered if the singers, singing joyfully, were singing songs for her? They were about grace and goodness that runs after you, and reckless love? Surely for everyone but her! As she sat… waiting to implode she thought that maybe…? This love of which they sang started to wrap itself around her like a fuzzy robe enveloping her with its soft warmth. She felt the sparks of what seemed like a gloriously stoked campfire Bringing comfort to her ever so tired and weary heart. As the man at the front spoke she knew that maybe this WAS real… That THIS God could love one as putrid as herself. These words sent out arrows of forgiveness intended for her heart and soul. She felt like the stains were being rubbed away with a gentle kind of soap. Tenderly and sweetly, they disappeared. As tears fell down her cheeks and rolled into the ocean beside her Forgiveness, grace, mercy, love for her? She did not want the white-washed walls of her father! She needed cleansing from the inside out. Grace Daub December 9, 2021