And that’s when I remember. It comes on an overnight plane to South Africa after a day spent dancing the streets of London, that’s when I remember that he never loved me the way I deserved and that the way he held me never was with a sense of forever, but a sense of need. That he wouldn’t have ever been able to give me this. What I gave myself. This kind of love that holds me when the plane rocks my ruby red seat and a baby balls in the background. The kind of love that soared between London sunrays for the street musician spinning a tune that spoke to my soul. The love that helps me pick myself up with all my baggage both real and figuritive, helps my jetlagged hangry self carry on plane ride after plane ride. The love that let’s the tears fall when the memories come because pain must be felt to be understood. Love that loves me as I do the things I must–the things I have been called to do. Because this love was first my love. Love that loves me the way my Father loves me. A reckless kind of love. And so maybe even then this love was God’s love. Love–value–decided at the cross. Priceless. Worth ever ounce of love poured out over me. Royalty. And slowly He is showing me how to love myself enough to understand that perfection is a fantasy and imperfection is perfection in my God’s eyes. That my broken heart is mended when God gives me a heart like His and shows me how to love wholeheartedly. A love that showed me that I am a princess in my Father’s eyes, a princess that doesn’t wait around for a prince to love her enough to slay her dragons, but slays them herself in the power that has been invested in her. Mighty women. Darling girl. Fearless. And when her prince does come he knows that to love her will be to love the way she fights her battles head held high, no fear in her eyes because a girl like her slays dragons just sitting in a red canvas plane seat with a baby crying in the background and the lady in front of her wondering why her tears look like living water.
