Fiction

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'Look and behold!'
Her heart thuds. She peers into His beaming face, His eyes are reassuring. With a little nudge, He encourages her to look.
And she sees through His eyes. There she is in the immaculate, ethereally magnificent Throne Room. She is clad in the most expensive of purple linen. It's the raiment of the Royal Lineage, and the blood that flows: is of Grace. She dances in twirls and circles. Her body moves in rhythm and mighty Finesse exudes from her.
Her voice rings out on a steady chord. It's loud, piercing, resounding and permeating. Yet, it's soothing and overwhelming. She sings words in an unknown tongue; the words seem to drift up like sweet incense toward the Throne that is encircled by light, cloud and thunder.
And HE that sitteth is pleased. She is His Joy, His Heir. She is His, The Bride.
She has the mark of the Son on her. She is bedecked with jewels and expensive stones. Ornaments of a quiet and meek spirit lay around her neck. A golden wreath that affirms her royalty seats upon her brow and gleams of Heaven. Her wrists, her fingers, her arms are encircled with Golden bands: Ornaments of the virtues of the Spirit. Pearls are woven into the weaves of her hair; they speak of a Godly inheritance. Her cheeks are bejeweled with the finest choices dangling from her ears they say of Favour and Blessings. Righteousness, Holiness, Purity are woven into the very fibres of her Regalia. Not a spot or wrinkle stains her garment.
Her lips drip honey and her eyes have the glint of Love, like that of a new bride. Her Worship is as expensive spikenard and a mix of the choicest perfumes, offered to the ONE who sitteth.
And His Love toward her pours forth profusely, dousing her in Grace and Mercy. And when she beholds that she will never fathom the depth of this Great Love, she is broken and falls prone in Selfless oblation. In response, her Love pours forth as from a box of alabaster!
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At the sight of this Divine epiphany, she's moved to thankful tears.
'That's what you are when you let Me hold your hand. Will you?' He asks, His voice bleeding of immense Love. His palm is opened, stretched out toward her. Will she take it?
'Will you let me be your delight, your Love, your... All?'
Her heart thuds with excitement, her pulse is quickened. She accedes humbly, places fragile hands in His secure one and He draws her into an embrace. The scent in His arms is so heady and irresistible; it's the fragrance of Love stored in the vial of the Cross!
She is persuaded that nothing can take this moment from her. Not trials, nor persecution, nor death, nor life, nor things present, nor things to come; not anything above nor beneath.

And here in this moment will she abide for all Ages.

© Dorcas 2015
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