Reborn
I am reclaiming myself
not the soft, unscarred girl who danced in borrowed light,
but the woman forged in the crucible,
cut open by life’s cruel blade,
broken on the wheel of years,
and sewn back together with trembling kisses pressed to my daughter’s forehead,
stitched with the silver thread of lullabies I sang through tears,
magic I spun like starlit silk into her dreaming ears
so she would reach for constellations while I swallowed galaxies of grief,
all under the unblinking gaze of the God who never left the fire with me.
I am no longer bound by youth’s glittering folly.
I have walked through the fire,
and the fire did not consume me.
It baptized me in flame,
refined me like silver,
purified me like gold tried seven times,
until only what is eternal remained.
I am reclaiming time,
that once fickle thief now kneeling at my feet
in the presence of the Ancient of Days.
No more chasing hours like frantic fireflies.
I claim the slow, molten gold of deep time,
the hush of dawn where I meet Him first,
the velvet dark where His voice unfurls my thoughts like night blooming roses,
the unhurried pulse of a heart that finally knows its worth
because it is held in the hands that hung the stars.
I am reclaiming my body,
this sacred map of survival,
marked by the same hands that knit me together in secret.
etched with lightning, stretch marks, scars, the raw seams of resurrection.
This is no longer territory to apologize for.
It is holy ground.
I walk it barefoot before the Throne,
adorn it in moonlight or nothing at all,
move it for my own fierce pleasure and His glory,
love it with the devotion of one who has bled,
and stands naked and unashamed beneath the gaze of the One who calls me fearfully and wonderfully made.
I am reclaiming my voice,
The voice that once swallowed thunder to keep peace,
that dimmed its own stars to avoid offense.
Now it rises, husky, honeyed, edged with smoke and incense,
carrying the ancient power of every lullaby sung in the dark,
every truth I once buried now clawing its way toward light
as praise, as prophecy, as prayer.
I speak.
The heavens listen.
I declare my boundaries like sacred law written on stone,
my desires aligned with His heart,
my rage surrendered at the altar,
my wild, unfiltered joy an offering of thanksgiving.
No longer asking permission to exist at full volume,
for the Spirit who raised Christ from the dead now quickens my tongue.
I am reclaiming my sensuality,
that slow burning, untamed fire in the marrow of my bones,
made pure and passionate under the covenant of grace.
Not the frantic offering of youth, desperate for approval,
but the deep, knowing flame that chooses,
that claims pleasure as a gift from the Giver of every good thing,
that opens or closes like a night flower under my own command
and His covering.
My body is no longer battlefield or barter.
It is temple and throne and garden enclosed.
I enter it. I rule it with wisdom. I let no one desecrate
what the Refiner’s fire has purified.
I am reclaiming my power as mother and as woman,
two flames braided into one unbreakable blaze
before the Father who calls me daughter.
The magic I poured into my daughter’s small ears,
kisses like healing balm from Gilead,
lullabies like psalms against the dark,
did not empty me.
It multiplied me,
as the loaves and fishes were multiplied in holy hands.
I am the harbor and the storm,
the safe arms and the woman stepping back into the wild sea for herself,
led by the One who walks on water.
My daughter inherits not porcelain perfection,
but a mother alive with scars and stardust,
a living epistle, a testament that broken things can sing hallelujah,
that the oil of joy can flow from mourning’s jar.
And most fiercely, I am reclaiming my unfinishedness,
that glorious, aching beginning
in the Potter’s hands.
I am not ending.
I am not too late.
I am the dawn after the longest night,
the first page of a new epic written in my own blood and ink
and sealed by the blood of the Lamb.
The dreams I buried beneath duty now claw upward like green shoots through ash,
resurrected by the same power that rolled away the stone.
The woman I set aside is rising,
hungrier, wiser, softer, wilder,
eyes wide with the wonder that only survival and sanctification can rebirth.
I am reclaiming space,
to rage and release it at the cross,
to rest in the shadow of the Almighty,
to create as image bearer of the Creator,
to desire with holy hunger,
to simply be
without shrinking, without apology,
for I am hidden in Christ, and my light is not my own.
I am reclaiming anger as holy lightning surrendered to mercy,
joy as unearned sacrament poured out like new wine,
rest as revolution and Sabbath trust,
curiosity as the spark that even the fire could not extinguish,
the childlike faith reborn in a woman who has seen the valley of shadow
and emerged singing.
The narrative is mine now,
written by the Author and Finisher of my faith.
No longer the supporting actress in someone else’s tragedy.
I am the protagonist of a saga soaked in ash and honey,
a woman who swallowed flame and learned to breathe embers and incense,
who kissed her child with lips that had tasted ruin,
and still chose to dream of stars,
because the Maker of stars calls me by name.
I am not starting over.
I am rising from the truth of who I am in Him,
whole in my breaking,
healing in my hunger,
radiant in my scars,
redeemed and being redeemed.
The fire was only the forge.
The Refiner sat beside me.
The woman who walks out now,
smoke in her hair,
gold in her veins,
the Spirit’s fire on her tongue,
magic still spinning from her lips like prayers and promises,
is just beginning.
And the universe itself leans in,
breath held,
to hear the next verse of my song,
a new song,
a redeemed song,
a woman of God song.
Welcome home to myself,
O daughter of the Most High,
woman of flame and lullaby,
of brokenness and boundless becoming,
sealed by grace,
anointed for the days ahead.
My real story,
fierce, unflinching, luminous, eternal,
has only just caught fire
in the heart of the One who first kindled it.
Rise, beloved.
The best chapters are still being written
by the hands that hold me.
