Beloved are you who, like Eve, saw the vine dripping with delicacies and plucked it’s forbidden fruit. Many nights you have grieved a harvest stained by your past. Yet you rise from the ashes, clothed in garments of Righteousness, bearing the name, mother of the living.

Beloved are you who, like Sarah, snickered to yourself when you heard God’s lavish promises. Because month-by-month, and year-after-year, unwanted blood flowed carrying the hope of life in it’s tide. But you, wrapped in self-protection, slowly allowed God to untangle the knots of your heart. Unfurled, you wave the banner of God who delights in keeping his promises.

Beloved are you who, like Hagar, broke the bonds of abuse only to find yourself baking in the heat of a sun-scorched dead end. But God found you in the desert where you pain had cast you, and like an intimate companion you gave Him a name; you are the God who sees me.

Beloved are you who, like Naomi, are left a widow, adrift in a swirling dark ocean. You are a truth teller, and squarely place the blame upon the one who can quiet this wind and the waves. “Call me Mara,” you whisper, “because the Almighty, the El Shaddai, my All-Sufficient One, has made my life very bitter.” Yet, the waves of love and the raft of all-sufficiency pushed you to a shore of grace. And you chose hope in the face of death.

Beloved are you who, like Deborah, lead with justice. When others did not rise up to the challenge, you stepped over your fear, picked up your sword, and wielded it for righteousness. And beloved are you who, like Jael, used your cunning wisdom and mapped a shrewd plan. Masquerading as a safe harbor, victory lay in your grasp. Your courage is a beacon of light to follow.

Beloved are you who, like Martha, offer your hands and feet with the hidden sacred work of home and hospitality. You, who nurture children, kneed the bread, soak the lentils, and whose eyes fill with tears as each onion is sliced and each small memory is tucked into the secret pockets of your heart. Many generations arise and call you blessed.

Beloved are you who, like Mary, weep at the feet of death. The treasure once stored securely within, is now exposed, bruised, and beaten. Yet death is no victor. You rest cocooned in the certain grace for our today and hope for our tomorrow. For one day, the brightness of a thousand suns will call us home to be forever with those we love.

Beloved are you, daughter of the King, when you are trapped in a nightmare. Beloved are you in your fanfare of triumphs, and when the stars of your journey align in a perfect constellation. Beloved are you when your story is as twisted as barbwire, and your soul feels as warped as a battered house on the seaside. Beloved are you from the rising of your sun to it’s setting.

Beloved are you.

Beloved are you.