“But hell has no salve for a wounded soul… “
Those were the words that echoed in my head as I trudged petulantly out of the arms of my Father. The days had become one horrid night of despair. The rains ravaged my existence.
Like a toddler I wanted my own way. I refused to listen to Sophia as she pleaded with me not to go with the seducer.
He courted me with the affections of the lost, teasing me till all I felt was a burning lust. He had offered me a way out. Inviting me to come dine with him, I jumped at the chance.
Yet in my ear, a voice called out incessantly, interrupting the sweet nothings that my lover whispered to me. The voice seemed to reach into the crevices of my being, startling me.
“But hell has no salve for wounded soles…”
I liked the butter of hell, the greasy fatness of the festering rot was a delight to me. But truth be told I did not see it as rot, in my eyes before me a table was set. An array of assorted delights…
I was drawn away by own lusts. My proclivity for the perishing platter of the pit was my pride and pleasure. Daily my friends and I feasted on the banality and refused to listen to the prodding of the Spirit. I slid my candle languidly beneath layers of lust and ignored the cries of Sophia as she walked the streets.
I found myself in the company of scoffers, in the congregation of scorners. We disdained the truth and ran roughshod over the truth- bearers. In my feebleness and folly I frisked with the flock of the foolish.
My soul found delight in the rash and trashy. It was all bliss. It was all sunshine and roses. I had no cares in the world.
Yet Sophia did not relent. Her voice rose in the morning and soared at dusk. She spoke of one who emptied himself of glory and domiciled amongst men. A prince whose love was sweeter than the finest of wines.
She sang, her voice heavy with kindness towards me about a Father who chased passionately after my soul even though I had treated him like filth and absconded.
She spoke in the stillness of night and above the howling of noon day. She had taken to the streets and would not relent till my soul embraced the balm of Gilead.
She called out to me, inviting me to his feast. The seducer scoffed, pointing to the treasures that now adorned my body but Sophia cried out “Many have been blinded by greed and now see as roses what are really weeds. “
I marveled at the kind of Love that would chase me so.
Sophia urged me “Guard your heart, dearest one… for to lose heart is to lose everything. Do not allow the vaults of your soul be ravaged by the thieving fingers of the accuser. Though he promises you the world, all he offers is emptiness and void. “
I felt a warmth wash over me as she speak. A light in the horizon stirred within me a hunger for truth. I rose as did the Prodigal son, as did the woman with the issue of blood and decided.
“it is time to return home”
“it is time to be healed”