Keep walking, beloved, we’re still so deep in the woods.

Do not forsake the hope that people can be good

just because some have looked upon you

and saw nothing but selfish opportunity.

Because when I stare into the depths of your eyes,

I only see the fire.

A fire that forged your heart of gold,

but also remnants of the rain which cooled it.

Slowly you became something tangible that I might hold without getting burned.

Beloved, we are made of our trials,

and we are made of our glory,

but mostly we are made by God

to navigate our oceans with perfect grace

if only we take the time to unburden our wings

from the heavy tar of building roads

when we were always meant to fly.

I saw you last night in the depths of your struggle,

deeper ever then than I’ve witnessed you yet.

And while you cried, sitting on the edge of your bed,

I held you, and I stroked your back.

But really, I was trying to untangle the strings

that were entwined in the intricate mesh of your wings built for soaring.

And when I saw your face

in the dim twilight of your dark night of the soul,

I saw not the pallor of a woman who was dead to her dreams, as you imagined,

but the sultry silhouette of the woman I love.

A woman who I love for her depth and heart and brokenness.

A woman who shows me where the light comes in.

And I know that with your hand in mine,

we may walk many miles,

but we will fly many more.

So keep walking beloved,

we are not out of the woods yet.

But when we step forth from the misty groves

and lay gaze upon the eternal seas of our tomorrows

we will have nurtured our wings

so wholly that the winds of fate reach beneath them and teach us how to fly

as though it’s what we were meant for all along.

Keep walking, beloved.

We are not out of the woods yet.