Once upon a time there was a dark cloak. Many wore it and ones like it. It looked so very warm and cozy and much needed. But it had a curse on it, and that curse stole the self worth from those that wore it, covered them in shame, made them feel they could never be loved. It ate the souls away from them.
The cloak wore many forms, and danced before the eyes, flaunting itself to be taken and put on. It promised strength. It promised fulfillment. It promised it was “no big deal.” Many put it on, and few took it off.
Once upon a time there was a woman who hated the dark cloak, and what it did to those who were supposed to love her. She hated it with all her heart and felt its hurt cut into her deeply.
The cloak had smothered her. It had changed the eyes of the man who wore it, so that he saw her as an object instead of a valuable woman. It had affected how he had treated her–manipulating, convincing, and constantly pushing her boundaries. She hated the cloak. It had not been laid aside.
Each night the man slept with his cloak, and every time, the woman died a little more inside.
But there were some who set the cloak aside, and these were heroes. They were truthful and courageous, loving and good. The cloak tried to leave its residue of shame though. It wanted them to fear it instead of God. It wanted them to believe they were worthless. But, the thing was, they were not worthless. They were handsome, loving, good-hearted, tender, strong, and had a real relationship with God.
They were precious, delighted in, and adored. And those who said or treated them otherwise were lying idiots. They were so very precious, lovely, and loved so much that I cannot even begin to describe it. They were flawed and imperfect, but beautiful. They are the victorious.
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“Following Your Feet, A Young Woman’s Journey”
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