Keeper Of The Key

Sheer panic grips her. Wiles have been perpetrated. Subtle breezes lift strands of her hair. They wrap around her neck, as if attempting to choke out any sound, any melody. Her lips part only to find silence. Velvet eyes set within a pale, soft face, like deep pools were known to flash green and blue sparks of internal praise. Now listless and quiet, they reflect only the loss of joy. Little foxes, they came and stole her song.

How could one of such great beauty and prose stand on the very edge of morning and not know? Not remember? Yes, the little foxes, they came and stole her song.

This is a travesty, for she is His righteous keeper of the key.

Footsteps somber with weights of encumbrance halt her once agile stride. One more step and quicksand will swallow her, consume her. Somewhere beneath fear, awareness is awakening. The light inside flickers, responding to the external breezes born of His presence, waiting, hoping to stir sonnets once sung. Droplets of moisture form, flowing aloft creamy foundations of her countenance, imploring, entreating her, yet she does not hear.

This is a perplexity, for she is His righteous keeper of the key.

Fear, the bearer of her panic, assaults her, threatens her and numbers her flaws, her past failed attempts. Deception releases fogs of treachery, obscuring triumphs, belittling offerings to her King.

Her enemy whispers in her ear, "Like a discarded harp, you are broken; you have lost your key, lost your way."

Words of men echo through her mind, setting up walls and doors barred with self-doubt. Yet, the light flickers in her heart—in a room darkened— refusing to yield to her momentary lapse of memory and self-blame.

This is a mockery, for she is His righteous keeper of the key.

Grace and a covering of love stir, moving melodiously across the broken strings of her passion. He enfolds her with healing grace, mending, restoring—communing. O, how He loves her.

Droplets of wooing melody caress her, draw her, stir her, escalating above the silence and deafening introspections of discord. Misting red with sacrifice, He reminds her, leading with unconditional love. Rising, liquid gems of cleansing weep through velvet portals of freedom. Traveling with transforming power, tender assurances soften her. Ears once deafened—hear. Eyes once empty—shine. Voice once silent— responds to ascending vibrations of praise, releasing sighs of promise.

This is a mystery, for she is His righteous keeper of the key.

With essences of His love captivating her heart, she moves. Soft winds fanning begin to illumine, blowing on her smoldering embers, embracing her darkness. She remembers; God has not given us (me) a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.

Taking her thoughts captive, she walks upon the quicksand of onslaught. Her light flickering becomes a flame, exploding, and flashing with sparks of internal jubilations. Peace, like a glorious sun, radiates. It abides, pushing out fear. O, how she loves Him.

She ponders. She meditates on His word stored up in her heart for such a day as this.

O Rejoice in the LORD, O you righteous, For praise from the upright is beautiful. Praise the Lord with the harp; Make melody to Him with an instrument of ten strings. Sing Him a new song. Play skillfully with a shout of joy.

Panic born of fear finds no place in this habitation of reciprocating love, for she is moving in harmony with Him. Ahhh—She is His worshipper. He is her song.

With travesty undone, she proclaims, "I am His righteous keeper of the key."

Sheer joy grips her. Subtle breezes of sweet refrain lift her heart, wrapping His chords around her, enveloping her within His melody. Her eyes now pearls of promise moistened by tears of repentance, radiate a new found joy. Standing in the midst of morning, she submits to the administrations of His singing, wafting across strings of her desiring—ascending.

No longer a mystery, she reclaims her place as keeper of the key; she is the upright, the beautiful, the caretaker of His melody. For praise is entrusted to the righteous.

He whispers. She sings—His song.

Ahhh, sweet mystery, sweet melody…The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, He will save, He will rejoice over thee with joy; He will rest in His Love, He will joy over thee with singing.

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2Tim 1:7 (MKJV)

Ps 33:1-3 (NKJV)

Zep 3:17 (KJV)