Picture a little girl with pigtails and ribbons, skipping along a wooded path with the One who hung the moon...
The sun was shining brightly, filtering through the trees which produced just enough shade for the perfect stroll. Everything seemed right, but I went prancing ahead without watching my step. A tree root rising from the forest floor surprised me and I fell quite hard. I tried to get up, but I was hurt. I asked Abba, my Father, to help me, but I couldn't get past the pain. He took my hand, but I wouldn't move. I was stuck. He began to pull me up, but I focused on the pain and began to kick and scream. The clouds had rolled in and I was getting cold. My Father picked me up. He began to carry me, but I hindered our progress with my protest. "It hurts, it hurts," I cried, flailing my arms and arching my back. He walked along with me in this manner, moving along ever so slowly, until I became so tired that I fell limp in his arms and my cries became a whimper. He let me rest my head on his shoulder as He walked along carrying me with ease. Gradually the pain from my injury decreased. I was hesitant to stand on my own two feet again, but my Father knew that it was time. He gently set me down holding tightly to my hand as we took the first few steps. It still hurt a little as I began to bear my weight again, but we walked along slowly. The further we went the less I felt the pain, though every once in a while I would step unevenly and it would flair back up for a time. My Father continues to hold my hand, and I hold onto His. I am content. I am glad, though I still feel the injury from time to time. It has taught me. I like to skip and dance, but I must stay close by my Father. I mustn't go ahead of Him without His hand to steady me lest I fall. I will remember this as the air becomes infused with the scent of honeysuckle and wild rose; and as the sun shines brightly through the trees producing just enough shade for a perfect stroll.
The sun was shining brightly, filtering through the trees which produced just enough shade for the perfect stroll. Everything seemed right, but I went prancing ahead without watching my step. A tree root rising from the forest floor surprised me and I fell quite hard. I tried to get up, but I was hurt. I asked Abba, my Father, to help me, but I couldn't get past the pain. He took my hand, but I wouldn't move. I was stuck. He began to pull me up, but I focused on the pain and began to kick and scream. The clouds had rolled in and I was getting cold. My Father picked me up. He began to carry me, but I hindered our progress with my protest. "It hurts, it hurts," I cried, flailing my arms and arching my back. He walked along with me in this manner, moving along ever so slowly, until I became so tired that I fell limp in his arms and my cries became a whimper. He let me rest my head on his shoulder as He walked along carrying me with ease. Gradually the pain from my injury decreased. I was hesitant to stand on my own two feet again, but my Father knew that it was time. He gently set me down holding tightly to my hand as we took the first few steps. It still hurt a little as I began to bear my weight again, but we walked along slowly. The further we went the less I felt the pain, though every once in a while I would step unevenly and it would flair back up for a time. My Father continues to hold my hand, and I hold onto His. I am content. I am glad, though I still feel the injury from time to time. It has taught me. I like to skip and dance, but I must stay close by my Father. I mustn't go ahead of Him without His hand to steady me lest I fall. I will remember this as the air becomes infused with the scent of honeysuckle and wild rose; and as the sun shines brightly through the trees producing just enough shade for a perfect stroll.
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