A rational creature, let down by this major blip in reason, such tragedy! One day she will awake, and be ashamed.
Am I ashamed of the winter trees drunk on the mist of the moor, waving their spindly twig fingers at me from across the glass lake; am I ashamed of the pink evening, stars already high, the early moon impatient for the night; am I ashamed of the pure breeze, of the rogue poppies in the vegetable patch or the bold robin on the sill who watches me from the corner of his shiny beady eye; am I embarrassed of nature? No!
Am I ashamed of the way my soul bleeds from my eyes, thick and hot and glistening like lava twisting in knots beneath the ocean; am I ashamed of my swan neck that holds up a brain encased in bone, bursting with a trillion thoughts; am I ashamed of the way my elephantine heart beats day and night to the rhythm of delicious things unseen, to hope and wonder; am I embarrassed of my own form? No!
Do I shy away from other people, do I run from these creatures emblazoned with colour and dreams and points of view; do I gouge out their enormous eyes because I cannot bear their loveliness, am I squeamish of their warm cheeks against mine, their sweet words in my ear; am I embarrassed of my kin? No!
Do I throw virtue to the wind and set about constructing a macabre little world without relationship, a shell of horrors? Am I ashamed of intimacy? No!
I cringe not if a person touches their nose to a rose, so why would I cast my gaze to the ground if they point to the sky and say, “Emily, tell me of its creator.”
I tell you, I do not!
People ask me sticky questions and set snares for my feet; they beg me to blush, to swallow my faith as fantasy; they would have me doubt and stutter. But what I have cannot be taken. What I know cannot be shaken. See my cheeks, pale and bold – no blood to betray me, no rosy shame.
Lord God, dressmaker and supreme scientist, who painted my soul and fashioned my skin, who sprinkled the void with galaxies and moons, my Father, I love you.
Lord Jesus, the Living Word, the lamb slain for me, who spoke the world into being, who kissed my eyes brown and smiled when I was born, who pulled me from the darkness and washed me tenderly in his own innocent blood, my soulmate and redeemer, I love you.
Holy Spirit, great Comforter, presence like honey, touch like silk, who never wanders from me, who calms my fevered woes in the lonely night, my best friend, I love you.
How could I ever be ashamed?