In trademark blend of poetic prose, Jenny Erlingsson beautifully illustrates a woman’s journey with God. Once we discover what God says about us in His Word, we can stand firm through struggles, receive His promises, and experience true freedom.
His in the Beginning
She is made—carefully, intricately woven into the masterpiece that He would call mankind. A kind of wonderful that would be like no other creature. She was made like no other but made for another, not as a problem to be handled but as a solution, as an answer. A response to a longing previously unfulfilled, a kiss, a thrill of excitement and joy, as she touches down, girl meets boy, boy meets joy, meets the expression of divine that he couldn’t quite articulate until he saw this Eve, his mate. This mother. This dancer. This serenade of creation. A lullaby of love and provision from their maker. She was made. In His image to represent His image, to birth His image, populate the earth with His image, to join in the reproduction of His very presence. She was made as His melody over the earth, a balm after a day’s work, to sing of beauty and worth, the laughter and the mirth; she was made perfect and lovely, not a flaw marred her features, but to Him she was the standard of loveliness, a work of art in moving form. Poetry in motion, how she must have danced, run, soared, beautiful feet...lifting, swaying, hopping, playing to eternity’s rhythm. She was made to t him. Partner for life to dwell beside, a companion she was made. She had not earned and so did not deserve such favor, yet...there was one who would make it seem so. One who would twist words once spoken into barbs of half-truths that would pull her through, discarding the gift that was given for that which they wanted to take. Grasping for temporary satisfaction in exchange for eternal relationship, she reached out for that which was forbidden and forgot she was made. So she gave lies a way, so she gave blame a name, so she hid from her source of wonder and forgot that she was made. And her identity as a solution became a problem that would plague. But she was still made and no mistake could erase the divine original intent of the Creator and the promises He conveyed, a promise that before she was formed He had made. For already there was one who was the lamb that was slain. He promised that from her brokenness, beauty He would make.
His in the Promise
She is His. And because of that she is brave, beautiful, bold, and strong. She laughs at the days to come knowing that her work comes from her rest. Leaning on the one who knows her best, she sets her rhythm to the cadence of His heart. Moves where He moves, goes where He goes, breathes in time with Him. For in Him is the fullness of her joy and the source of her satisfaction. She rests easy, she is covered, her strength dwelling in what she yields to Him. A force to be reckoned with because she is only His.
His in the Struggle
I am His, and at times there is a gripping that leaves me wounded, set out on lines to dry after a thorough washing. Hanging in the sun after being undone by His beautiful, breaking words. I have heard. Heard the voice of the one who binds the broken-hearted, sets in place even that which He has crushed, reminding me that though I treasure them, some things are really dust and meant to be adjusted. I have heard His words. And though they sting with painful accuracy they ring with accurate truth, and to grasp the grip He has on me I must release what He surfaces, away with the shackles I’ve placed on me, sweep away the junk that He’s uncovered, deal with the underside of me. For that’s what He’s after and it’s all His after all.
He has a right to clean his temple; He knows the best way to love His girl.
His in the Freedom
I need to be free, free from the power of Your words over me and what I fear they could take from me. Because that’s the fear, right? The fear that drives this emotional, irrational game of cat and mouse and leaves me in the grip of what You think of me. I’m thinking clearly now...of how Your words leave me bound, ever unintentional on Your part but ever so clever on the part of the enemy of my heart. He sends his darts, his barbs, his spears through others’ phrases, phasing me out of what really is into all those past spaces that I’ve tried so hard to leave, but instead I remain stuck here because the place I need to leave is still inside of me. Me, me, me, it’s all about, right? Taking the gaze off You, Lord, and keeping me in the center of my eyes. Keeping me in the center, it makes sense, my blundering nonsense, my dance of fear, this circumstance of me tiptoeing constantly around what I think and do, and the consequence has been that I no longer fear You. Because of me what they say has meant more than what You’ve spoken. Because of me the fear of man has left me breathless, left me choking on the person the truth of who You’ve created me to be...Yahweh, Father, Daddy, Abba, break this filter, free me, free me.
Free me to run, to dance, to speak; free me to shout this purpose inside of me; there is purpose inside of me and it’s screaming out my pores; sick of adorning myself with doubt I am pounding at Your doors with adoration because You hear me, there’s no doubt, and what I’ve been seeking by craving their attention I cast to the side because I am Your creation and You’re creating me to be a woman who’s a bride in the making. Remove the barbs of fear from me; Lord, I’m Yours for the taking.