How often is this the case? She sits apart, “too old for such things,” while I immerse. She’s on the verge, ready to jump into the abyss. Temptation is calling, as she always has, to run, run, run.
Could you abandon the refinery of loneliness to enjoy the company of ragamuffins? We’re open, darling; are you? Or will the transition towards messy-lovely community be too much for your white sandals?
That’s why we wear black. Ours were white once, too, till honesty began its work. But don’t you see we’re proud of it? Our shoes are black but our feet are clean. He’s changed our souls, made us new again, but we haven’t forgotten the work He’s done. She bears my burdens and I bear hers, because honesty makes the weight lighter. He carries it all.
Travel, share the news, labor in love for Him, work to make others free. So our sandals have turned black, but our feet are clean.
Come, bare your heart and start this next voyage with us.
The beauty of honesty is sweeter than that of white shoes enclosing feet rubbed raw in an attempt to scrub away the dirt.
We’ve become a culture of self-preservation, and thus are walking mummies.