Beulah Kleinveldt

Beulah Kleinveldt or Ms B”, as she is fondly known is a mother, grandmother and mentor. Her journey speaks of success and victory, failure, shame and restoration. A passion to live an intentional life.

4shadesofscarlet.blogspot.com/

The post The Father Heart of God appeared first on Cup of Faith.

In 2007 a ministry appointment in a London Church taught me a lesson that remains valuable and changed my perspective on what the Apostle Paul means when he says, “I am poured out for the sake of the Kingdom” (2 Tim 4:6). God indeed requires us to practice a lifestyle or meekness.

Meet Pastor Bamidele

Bamidele is a Nigerian name in the Yoruba language. It means, “Follow me Home” or “Come Home with Me”.  I hope that this story will ignite a passion that will take up Bamidele on his offer. He was the Senior Pastor of a relatively large Nigerian church on the outskirts of London. A church that hosted us for tea after the morning service. This was not an unusual occurrence for international guests. As an itinerant missions team, we always enjoyed the spirit of hospitality that showered us. We were “waited-on” hand and foot. Around the table we enjoyed good conversation with Pastor Bamidele and his family. Eventually it was time for us to be taken to our hotel. The Pastor and two of his elders shuttled us. When we arrived Pastor Bamidele, in the true spirit of chivalry, opened the car door for me and carried my bags. 

 “How delightful! What an incredible leader.” You have to understand that while I experienced chivalry at many levels it was not the norm for senior church leaders to do the tasks normally assigned to deacons or elders. Bamidele wasn’t dressed in Gucci’s or Armani’s (as is the habit amongst many) yet was an interesting and deep conversationalist – kind and generous in gesture. The sort of person that piques one’s curiosity. A quiet unassuming man with an air of mastery.

The Face of Meekness

Standing at the front desk I heard the receptionist say, “Welcome and thank you Doctor.” I turned to him in amazement, “You never said a word. Why is it that nobody at your church calls you Doctor? You carried my bags and waited on us without any airs and graces. You are different. The modern church is so focused on titles that it’s truly become more about designation than meaningful engagement that upholds dignity. This is such a refreshing introduction to servanthood. Or perhaps it is a fresh perspective on godly leadership.”

He watched my animated gestures with a shy smile, 

“The title wasn’t important enough to mention”. A rare response.     

“So then, what kind of doctor are you?”

“I’m a Physicist.”

“Wow, I think you’re the first Physicist I’ve met.”

We laughed. A connecting moment. Not the man with a professional title, not the man who led churches but a friend. It wasn’t in what he said but how graciously and sincerely he said it;
it wasn’t in his demeanour – though he carried himself with confident modesty. He was one of the team. I found it amusing that I heard no congregant refer to or address him as doctor. 

Pastor Bamidele seemed to simply “BE”. He wore “Presence” with elegant eloquence. He seemed like a man whose only passion was to ensure that the sheep in his care were taken care of. He explained it to me very clearly when I raised a few questions. 

“I am a Shepherd called for the sheep, and while my academic achievements are a gift it has no bearing on my Pastoral calling. An earned credit. I did not earn my calling – it is a gift not asked for neither deserved. God deemed it so and I opened my heart and said, “Yes Lord, I will be your servant to the people”.                                                                                                                 

The Heart of Humility

Oh, the prize of servanthood. Pastor Bamidele reflected godly assurance in his straight back and sure gait. In the lowered head when he picked up my bags. In a knowing that God sees and that his approval was more glorious than any pat on the back.
Humility shines through best in an unassuming character. It shows up when we are called to deny ourselves. Dying to the desire to announce who we are and how educated or gifted we are. How entitled we are. This is why Jesus was able to sit with those others called “unimportant”, lowly”, “depraved”. He sees what we do not. He sees people through His Father’s eyes.

Humility is not in carrying yourself as if you have no value, bent and “a doormat”, but in our attitude towards serving others. Humility is bowing low to wash the feet of those the world would place as “low class”. The poor, the uneducated, the less fortunate. 

Jesus tells us the reward for humility in Matthew 5:3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

Titles are meaningless if we cannot be servants. The pursuance of earthly achievement without the spirit of servanthood is a futile climb. It profits nothing. It has no eternal reward. 

“What shall it profit a man if he was to gain the whole world but lose his soul?” (Mark 8:34-38) We can never stop being servants, meaning to serve and to be servant-minded. Herein lies the willingness to pick up the “tray” and serve. Clothing our hearts and understanding in humility is born through practice – and practice brings awareness – awareness holds us accountable.

How to Practice Pastor Bamidele’s Humility:

1.  Lower your head so that another may be lifted up.
2. Esteem your brothers and sisters higher than yourself.
3. Be transparent and stand exposed before God.
4. Paul was an Apostle who prayed and praised in prison alongside Timothy as a brother.           
5. Pick up bags and host graciously.
6. Mop floors without thought – be a part of the team.
7. Bathe the sick; adopt the lowly spirit Jesus showed when He washed His disciple’s feet.           
8. Carry food to the hungry
9. Be a servant behind the pulpits; behind the podium – practice your gift to uplift and serve.
10. Remain bowed before the throne of God.
11. Deny the desire for accolades lest you draw glory to yourself that belongs to God alone.
12. Embrace a lifestyle of brotherhood and sisterhood.
13. Pursue to profit others rather than be exalted a Prophet.
14. Pursue the greatest of all gifts: to be poured out for the sake of the kingdom. 

Humility is like throwing a purple cape over our shoulders. We take upon ourselves the most regal nature of our Father.

It is simply in BEING what you are called to be: God’s heart and hands.

We are undoubtedly called to serve. It is a gift of grace that impacts all we do. 

When we serve, we introduce the very nature of Christ, the Giver of eternal life. 

This is leadership. 

Calling. 

Servanthood. 

This is the very essence of godly humility.

May you follow Pastor Bamidele, 

home.

Beulah Kleinveldt

Beulah Kleinveldt or Ms B”, as she is fondly known is a mother, grandmother and mentor. Her journey speaks of success and victory, failure, shame and restoration. A passion to live an intentional life.

4shadesofscarlet.blogspot.com/

The post Clothed in Humility appeared first on Cup of Faith.

1989 – United Kingdom

I was 3 months pregnant in March 1989 when I accepted the invitation to be the soprano for Vinesong – a reputable vocal music ministry based in the United Kingdom. It required that I travel across countries, continents, peaks and plains. Itinerant ministry wasn’t new to me. It was all I did since I was 16-years-old. This invitation somehow was different. We were hedged in by a firewall of prayer and our faith in God was steadfast. We knew God had a plan for our lives and our baby, and we rested in His care. We trusted for His provision. We embarked upon a South African ministry tour at the Rhema Church in Johannesburg where Pastor Ray Macauley prayed for our unborn child and asked God to help it be a perfect international missions-baby; to give it peace and keep it comfortable while travelling across continents. 

When we arrived In England I was well cared for and all seemed well. I enjoyed playing numerous “bath games” with my baby long before I held him in my arms. Six months into my pregnancy an ultrasound revealed irregularities.  It was determined that my baby’s spine was not visible. A very worrying and dangerous position for the baby to be in. The examination and consultation were one of the worst moments in my life. I had been in missions and ministry for most of my years and naively assumed that my position in serving God in ministry would protect me from adverse circumstances. Or that somehow, I would be overlooked by adversity. I arrogantly thought I was spiritually strong enough to handle anything. More doctors were called in to check. Same result. Oh, how shocked was my neatly wrapped prosperity theology of, “Believe, declare it and you will receive”. I knew nothing of the sovereignty of God then. But I was about to find out. 

“We suggest abortion. Your baby will be born with grave abnormalities that will affect his life until he eventually is overcome by them. We can confirm that your baby will definitely be born with Spina Bifida”. Terrifying words and a sorrowful diagnosis. A horrifying future for my faith to process. Suddenly all the vows I made about abortion deserted me. As a Christian I promoted and firmly stood on anti-abortion standards. I considered what life would be like for him. What it would be like having to journey into a future with a differently abled child.  All these thoughts and more circled inside my head and disrupted my dreams and faith.

My husband and I were shattered. We had no idea how to navigate the devastating news. We consulted with our ministry team and leader who advised we take it to God in prayer. We wept in desperation before God and implored His favour on the life of our child. In our supplication we learned of Gods sovereignty. God gives life and He alone takes it; we plan but God decides because He alone knows what’s best. We may think we know but only He holds the key to the answers we seek. We were still shaken with fear and anxiety but arose from our knees with a decision firmly made. Our hearts were turned to God. Surrendered to His sovereign will and purpose. Trusting that He would carry us no matter what.

“We will have our baby. He is God’s child – a child committed to God and we believe is called for great exploits. We will not destroy a life or be responsible for doing so. Please do not enforce the abortion because we will not accept it. We believe in this child”.  We sounded brave but our hearts were foiled in fear. “Shaking in our boots” was an understatement. We discovered that no matter how strong we may think we are, life can hit us so hard. It pins us to a wall where we come face to face with our human fragility.

A second ultrasound ensued; a highly unusual procedure at six months of pregnancy but my obstetrician wanted to be sure, and we wanted it. Consultants remained forceful about the abortion. The state didn’t want another liability to take care of. Spina Bifida was a common disability in the United Kingdom. An international consultant was called in and after countless moments of prying and prodding he made an announcement that left the medical team gobsmacked, “I can see the spine. I can’t understand how it was not spotted yet it is clearly outlined across the screen”.  Brows were raised and eyes popped. “Baby’s heartbeat is ever strong and certain”. Our baby was left in peace to grow and my “bath games” continued. The hand of God touching the broken places mine could not.

Eight months into my pregnancy I went into the studio to record the Peace Like a River album. My heavy belly and “air deprived” vocals sensitively and beautifully produced by the legendary international songwriter and music master Stuart Townend.  Stuart jokingly commented, “Please do not go into labour during the recording phase”. A month later on the 10 August 1989 I gave birth to my first Prince at Princess Ann Hospital in Southhampton.  His name is imprinted into the music and engraved onto the album cover as a testimony of God’s miraculous power to do exceedingly and abundantly more than we could ever believe or imagine. It remains a memory of God taking us through the valley of the shadow of death. My son’s birth a testament to the power of God.

Six Years later – South Africa 

A routine school nurse check-up suspected possible scoliosis and advised a scan. Again, my world fell apart. The past beat down on my faith. My peace. I tried to reconcile the first miracle to the second diagnosis that was confirmed as congenital scoliosis. The prognosis even worse. “His curve will deteriorate with every passing year”. My son had just started playing in the Bakers mini-cricket games. “He will never play sport”.  I lay against my shower wall while the water rained down on my pain and sorrow. “Why, Lord. Why. I thought you had healed him. I thought your miracle was complete. What sin have I committed that you punish me so. That you punish us? That you punish my son so. Have I not served you all my life?”

Despite our pain we prayed every night and I laid hands on my son’s body and anointed it with oil. I ignored the voice of naysayers who said there is no power in the oil. They missed that it was my faith displayed in symbolism. When we are desperate and in great turmoil, we fall upon God in unwavering hope. I believed that God would understand my need and knew my heart. He saw my tears and did not despise my fears. I never stopped believing in prayer and used the oil as a symbol of my faith in God to touch and heal. I was a miracle baby too. But my story of miracles will be told another time. 

Present Day 

Today at almost 35 years of age and despite prognosis my eldest Prince has covered major National and International ground in the professional world of cricket. Through captaincy and over 100 caps later he defied and defies prognosis; and is indeed a walking miracle. The greatest miracle is that God keeps him comfortable – just as Ray Macauley prayed before he was born – and when discomfit hits, God upholds his miracle son. I cannot understand it all. The confrontation with abortion and prognosis of disability still strikes at my heart and faith regularly. My soul continues to pray unceasingly. My son’s faith remains ever firm in the same God he encountered before and after he was born into this world. A God who has a plan for our lives. A God who understands what the world needs through us. Our testimonies of recovery and restoration change minds, provokes deep consideration by those contemplating abortion. I discovered that it is impossible to determine the future even in the face of horrific prognosis.

Oh God our help in ages past, our hope for years to come

My baby defied medical intention and prognosis, “Congenital Scoliosis does not allow for its sufferers to play sport or any rigorous activity. He will be deformed.”

Our miracle wars against congenital scoliosis daily and our story has left the worlds best orthopaedic surgeons scratching their heads. God has him. Uncomfortable flare-ups remind us that we serve a faithful God who knows the end from the beginning. He is the Alpha and Omega – the beginning and the end. I am convinced that God has the life of every child clearly marked and mapped. We will never understand His ways and like me, we will always ask, “Why, Lord, why?” I have not received my answer yet but when I look at the miracle we chose to bring into this world, I know God gave me the greatest gift I could ever have asked for. The navigation of his journey is his own story, and I know he has his own questions, pains and thoughts. But above all I know this, “He is ever grateful to be alive and live in the greatness of who God is. When he beholds his son and wife, he understands what it is to be given a beautiful gift. The same he was and is to me. His miracle always before him. Before us.” 

I undoubtedly know that during the second ultrasound in 1989 that God was holding my baby against His bosom. The specialist, one of the best in the world, unknowingly beheld Jehovah Rapha at work. The screen reflected the force of angels and the power of a sovereign God surrounding the baby yet to be born; a son destined to be a voice for kingdom of God. I am constantly reminded through his exploits that God had him then and God has him now. God will always have him. God holds him. It is only when adversity hits that we truly know whether we will stand or fall. Thank God we stood. “In the midst of wise counsel there is safety”. Spiritual and moral support helped us stand. Grace helped us through. It kept and keeps us from caving in to fear and sorrow. 

My son is a courageous, handsome sportsman whose name is in media and in print; the face his baby applauds when he sees him on television. A man his wife is proud to be with. A champion for the faith; a faith we all hold on to. He reminds us daily that our is a God of miracles. Prayer is a most powerful tool. When everything points to “He will never” God steps through our veil of uncertainty and paralysing fear, and shows his power in our darkness. In our pain. In a mother’s questions and desperate tears. A heart that sorrows when her children hurt. 

My tearful response to the mother who is at war with abortion is a sensitive, “Don’t abort your legacy – your gift to the world. Your baby is Gods. Let his sovereign will decide the gift it will be to this world. If you cannot raise him, let him be cared for by another mother who longs to”. 

This story is a fraction of the journey that started with a medical order to abort; it hardly captures the terror we walked through. Like living in a room without air; without windows. Perpetual panic attacks that leave one gasping for breath. But no matter what tomorrow holds I know that after 35 years that God is in this story. He is writing it every minute of every day. Each day my trust grows in Gods power that defies a lifelong prognosis. He alone knows the end from the beginning and he scripts our lives according to a great love we will eventually come to understand.

“Call unto me in the day of trouble, I will deliver you and you will glorify me”. Psalm 50:15

“I believe Lord; uplift my pained heart and grant me peace in my restless hours”. 

While some nights and days can seem too long and hard l will always believe in miracles;

Because I birthed one. 

From Beulah Kleinveldt’s From a Place of Miracles. Her new upcoming nonfiction book on life and the stories that birth hope.

Beulah Kleinveldt

Beulah Kleinveldt or Ms B”, as she is fondly known is a mother, grandmother and mentor. Her journey speaks of success and victory, failure, shame and restoration. A passion to live an intentional life.

4shadesofscarlet.blogspot.com/

The post I Birthed a Miracle: A Christian Mother’s Conflict with Abortion and a Heart wrenching Medical Prognosis appeared first on Cup of Faith.

For the aged ageing woman and the young who are ageing

Embrace your true self – this is the very essence of your earthly journey. To become more like our Creator in nature and to pursue inseparable intimacy.

My family genes acquire “greying” at a very young age.
For almost thirty years I fought back with gusto and costly product. With time my mane thinned and my vanity took a beating. Some days were and are harder than others as I search for the invisible strands that once were my pride and joy.
Age rushed forward and I through many transitioning applications, finally surrendered life worked at my transformation and transition.

Eventually I embraced the inevitable and while still suffering after-shock tremors I am finally walking into my true self. This is the very best part of my journey.
I’ve watched my mom’s hair thin over the years and now I know what she felt.
Yesterday, during my “comfort consultation”she told me, “It isn’t easy watching yourself change but once you accept it and overcome the negative opinions of others you’ll be fine”.
My beloved man told me, “Men struggle too.”
What a revelation.
All along we’re taught that silver foxes are sexy and distinguished without considering how many men suffer and struggle through balding heads and white hair.

Change is inevitable. I’ve embraced my fallen silver mane.
I’ve opened my heart to my true self and it feels good.
My mane does not define me.

Here I am; vulnerable as an umbrella in a Cape Storm.
I shall be 60 on 17 July 2024.
Grace – Grace – God’s grace.
I am as young as I choose to be.
I shall walk this path gracefully and graciously.
With a knowing smile I shall acknowledge the divine resurrection power that dwells within me.
I am the miraculous and wonderful workmanship of an undefinable and still incomprehensible God who fashioned me in his image.
Whether black; purple; silver; grey; brown, blonde or brunette. 20 years or 80.
I am God’s and He is mine.
This is the greatest power available to women – we have a creator; a father who is God.
A God who knows everything about us – even the anxieties that often overwhelm us as we face our ageing selves.
Those beauty lines we wish away in the mirror.

Think on this when you are bombarded by change:

You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise; You perceive my thoughts from afar.


You discern my going out and my lying down;
You are familiar with all my ways.

Before a word is on my tongue
You, Lord, know it completely.


You hem me in behind and before, and You lay Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, You are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.


If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there Your hand will guide me,
 Your right hand will hold me fast.

For You created my inmost being;


You knit me together in my mother’s womb.


I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from You
 when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.


Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.


How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
How vast is the sum of them!


Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand—


when I awake, I am still with You. 

Psalm 139 (NIV)

You and I are the very essence of transformation.
We must worship only He who transforms us in our evolution and dying of self; until we are like Him completely – in nature – in essence.
I celebrate my resplendent change that speaks to God’s plan for my life.
I pray that you too will celebrate yours as you embrace God’s transformational power that is at work within you.
A God who guards your life day and night.
A father who cares about everything that concerns you.

Beulah Kleinveldt

Beulah Kleinveldt or Ms B”, as she is fondly known is a mother, grandmother and mentor. Her journey speaks of success and victory, failure, shame and restoration. A passion to live an intentional life.

4shadesofscarlet.blogspot.com/

The post A Silver-Haired Woman’s Words of Wisdom and Courage. appeared first on Cup of Faith.

I found him suffocating in building sand.

One shimmering afternoon in July 1997 my dad was laying concrete slabs while my brother helped me with much-needed weeding. Dad and I had been jesting and chatting through and over the 6-foot wall that separated our homes. Suddenly all went still. A chill permeated the atmosphere. I called him a few times with deep dread. No response except a continual grunt.

Curiosity brought my 5-year-old outside to see why I was calling and found his grandfather lying face-down in the sand. “Are you hurt pa? I think pa’s dead mommy”. Dead! What do 5-year-olds know of death? The shock had me sprinting across the garden without really knowing how I got to the other side–to my parents’ home.

It is said that shock paralyses. But instead gave me wings. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…I tried to remember what I saw on television as his frantic stares bore into mine. I failed…I failed. That realisation would haunt me for years to come.

Daddy.

He was a kind and generous man. A tenor and musician who loved the piano accordion, and together with my mom pastored small groups for married couples. A PK (pastor’s kid) who was the epitome of humour. In short, he loved laughing. We shared a very special kind of bond.

He was loved by everyone. By me. He loved his children. His grandsons. Picked them up every day from pre-school. Even on the day he died – 31 July 1997. He died in my arms. Builders sand glued inside his mouth. My hands stroking his cheek.
The sun dancing rings around his dying frame like a campfire celebration. Native American chants ringing inside my head. My brother beat his chest, “Wake up daddy, wake up”! Nothing. “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…like a lullaby for a sleepy baby.

He heard me as he drifted off – realising that his life had come to an end. That fearful end. That sudden end gives no one a chance to say goodbye. To right the wrongs of hours ago or yesterday…or simply to say a few words…that valley of death where light awaits but first shadows must be conquered along the way…30 seconds…just like the game your heart beats in overdrive, sweat beads your forehead, adrenaline jumps up and down.
Then calm. Peace. Tranquillity. The soul sails home…not a care in the world. Game over.

Death makes us pray in strange ways. In desperate hushed tones. In gardens where sweat turns to blood. My heart felt like a barren land. My life ceased to exist in some bizarre way.

He was 56. So young.

My brother and I dragged him inside the house while his head banged against the concrete slabs he was so excited to place that day. If only we could design our dying day, the when and how.

Grief

I remembered the look of death. I was haunted by an image and memory I couldn’t overcome. Almost daily after he died I’d sit in my lounge and stare at my porch waiting for him to appear; I missed him – the emptiness indescribable. I begged God to make the pain go away.

The Dream

I saw my father run towards me across a beach of gold and white sand. Surrounded by tall dense trees and the bluest crystal clear waters where sea creature played undisturbed. I never knew him so young. I called out as he came closer, “daddy…daddy, is it you”? Dressed in a flapped about the white shirt and rolled up fawn-coloured trousers. Laughing as he ran through the froth that covered the shore. He touched my cheek, “Yes, it’s me. You must let me go. I’m whole and happy. I’m at peace”. I reached out as tears gushed down my face…onto my chest. I Tried to breathe between the twinges of grief. My pillow soaked with agony.
But my vision of him set me free, and out of it, I wrote, “Goodbye”. 10 Years after his death I was finally free. God’s gift to me.

I was stuck. I didn’t know how to let him go because I didn’t know how to manage sudden death. None of my bible studies prepared me. I had things I still wanted to tell him. We do not mourn as those who have no hope. I remembered none of it. Yet it remains true. The scriptures are written for our sorrow and joy. I simply didn’t know how to cope and so I cried out to God for help. God in his mercy and love showed me something of a world of golden shores and indescribable peace. A place where there is no sickness or sorrow. No tears and trauma.

The regret and guilt at not being able to save my father has faded into an assurance that God holds all things in His hand; life and death. I am filled with hope.

Peace.

One day I shall run into my father’s arms and he will welcome me to our home – where time shall be no more, and roses never fade. In that place of peace, wonderful peace. When a sovereign God says, “Come home” it is the greatest gift for those who are called.

But for us who are left behind, we have yet to learn how to be completely happy without them. My 5-year-old is 30 years old now and remembers very little of that day.

I remember a young man in a flapped about the white shirt and rolled up fawn-coloured trousers with peace in his eyes.

He was happy.

I found my happiness through his eyes and in the hope that God knows the taste of grief.

Beulah Kleinveldt

Beulah Kleinveldt or Ms B”, as she is fondly known is a mother, grandmother and mentor. Her journey speaks of success and victory, failure, shame and restoration. A passion to live an intentional life.

4shadesofscarlet.blogspot.com/

The post Daddy, Wake Up appeared first on Cup of Faith.

Anna ran towards the lopsided barn.
Anticipation high with a hope that danced inside her tormented soul.
Would he look into her eyes and know.
Would he see her ugly truth?
The hiddenness…….the wanting……….the desperate need.
Shame washed over her like groans from hell.
Former accolades and pats on the back shredded in the face of undisguised brokenness.
She was a woman without value who was trying to recall a vague impression of what she once was.
Groping inside her mind for a tiny glimpse of her former self. The woman before sin happened.
The scarlet letter that was branded into her soul.
Her nails dug into her flesh as if to rip out the stigma that clung to her like a second skin.
Would he love her; what was there to love. She was fallen, tainted, tagged.
There was no hope for a woman like her. The stones had broken her will to rise.
Sin loomed large and monstrous, mocking her attempts at freedom.
Her body twisted in agonised cries and searing pain.
She stumbled on the grassy verge and pounded the grief that was too much to bear.
A fallen woman racked with untold misery and blinding guilt.
She lay where she fell, too drained to continue. Wretched and rung out.

He saw her through the pressing throng and slowly pushed towards her.
Anna sobbed like a broken vessel.
“I am so lost Lord……….unloved – unworthy of love – I don’t belong – I am as a leper.
Great waves of compassion washed over him and with gentleness, he folded her into his arms.
Nothing hidden.
Mercy reached out to cleanse her tortured frame. To heal the bruises left by gossipmongers and nay-sayers.
“It is the end of you. What a shameful woman you are”. Voices that haunted her every sleeping moment. But God loved her with everlasting love.
“Oh, my Lord”, you know everything about me.
Heaven gazed at her remorse and grieved with her for loss and lives pained at her hand;
for innocence plundered and dignity spent.
Anna whimpered into God’s heart like a lost little girl.
kissing the hands that were pierced for her.

“My dearest Anna”, he wept, “Don’t you know that my grace is relentless……all-sufficient for you.
Nothing will ever change that”.
Her being shook with the power of truth that unshackled her shame,
the truth that removed the scarlet branding from around her neck and flung it inside the dilapidated vintage parked with great pride beside the barns faded wooden walls.
In an instant all things became new. She was free.
Free like an eagle gliding over mountain peaks and across emerald skies.
“Your presence gives me strength to walk amongst my accusers,
and your grace will follow after me and preserve my soul”.
Her words melted into tears of joy as she lifted her face to a holy God who pardoned her sin.
A Saviour who wrote a promise upon the tablet of her heart.
A Father who made all things new and gave her a fresh start. A second chance.
The Balm of Gilead had come for her just as he said he would.

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. he protects their bones, not one of them will be broken. The enemies of the righteous will be condemned.

He had kept his promise.

“Anna, Anna’! slowly her mother’s voice reached through her vision and plucked her back to reality. You are too late to meet your appointment. Why on earth did you sleep so late?!”
Anna sat up and at once felt the tears on her cheeks, and the absence of the scarlet tag. It’s imprinted barely visible on her chest.

She hastily dressed and ran towards the lopsided barn seeking a dilapidated vintage that held the answers she sought.

She felt free.

Free like an eagle gliding over mountain peaks and across emerald skies.

Free,

Free at last!

Beulah Kleinveldt

Beulah Kleinveldt or Ms B”, as she is fondly known is a mother, grandmother and mentor. Her journey speaks of success and victory, failure, shame and restoration. A passion to live an intentional life.

4shadesofscarlet.blogspot.com/

The post The Scarlet Woman appeared first on Cup of Faith.