The chalice beckons
I’m parched, lips sticking mercilessly to gums above dry teeth
And she
Sits regally, back straight, barely sparing it a glance.
My eyes lock on its surface; taught, broken only by the ice of self pity and bitterness. I want to take great drafts of despair. I imagine the icy liquid dribbling from my chin and as I move towards it, my eyes catch hers.
And she
Meets my gaze evenly, without pity or judgement or scorn.
“It will not slake your thirst.” She states simply. And something in the way the words emerge make me take notice - they are enunciated in such a way that I am keenly aware that her mouth is every bit as dry as mine. But the chalice seems to hold no power over her, and my determination turns to indecision… as I wonder why.
And she
Answers my unasked question with a resolve born of depths I long to acquire.
“It does not belong to us. Leave. It. Be.”
And I do.
*this blogpost was written because as I was thinking about someone I have long admired i had this picture of her in my head, refusing to drink from a cup of despair - & it was so vivid, I decided to write a little snippet…
** I was feeling weird about ending it with everyone still thirsty… but then I was reading the Bible to the boys this morning & was reminded about how even Jesus - in His perfection… he *suffered* as a man. & I am glad I left it there.
