Peace runs deep.
Because he has spoken peace all over me, called me beautiful, Spirit-born, I fight my inner dark, choose this day the Holy.
The spaghetti in the pot smells good, my kitchen like oil, my bed like honey. Men know my man’s good name. At home he’s Daddy. He trusts me with his name, and he likes the way I wear it. He’d take the way I walk over a lottery win.
When I write I cry. Because I’ve been in the clutches of death, when I write I cry and I feel it deeply, and I know sometimes it’s good. I know the Spirit moves when I’m not afraid to love anymore, not afraid to be loved. I’m not afraid to give my best work or afraid that I’ll run out, and I’m not lazy in trying to get better.
When I go to Zumba, it makes me happy. I look in the mirror at all the women dancing nearly together, and we’re smiling so much our teeth are dry. I love it when my legs feel strong.
I’m not like a lot of women I love and would love to be like, good at sewing or scrapping in a book. But I’ve words and stories, and I’ve learned the warm-all-over joy of realizing my gift and considering how it might bring good to my family, even though the 50’s model is something other than I am.
No use comparing ourselves or in being unkind toward or jealous of another. It’s no use being worried we’ll be misunderstood or forgotten; our security, our only good, is one well-placed fear. I tell you to stop and sing it as much as you can: All-Mighty, my fear is only with You, slain, worthy, Holy.
See the future? It makes me smile.
Now it’s your turn. Do have a vision (a truth to live toward) of yourself as a Proverbs 31 Woman?
Might she look a little differently than you thought if you wrote about her in your own words?