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Proud Beauty

Proud Beauty

She had a Father whose favor enveloped her like a rare jewel, whose gifts were radiant and perfect: grace, beauty, and intelligence. Yet instead of gratitude, pride began to swell within her. Her Father, in His infinite mercy, did not condemn her; He pursued her ceaselessly, sending His sons and daughters to warn her. But did she listen?

 

Her weary legs shuffled down the street, silent and devoid of conversation. Strands of grey hair tumbled from her head like forgotten memories, revealing scars that whispered of past battles. A peculiar aroma lingered around her, a bittersweet perfume that clung to her as she passed, step by broken step. She sighed in regret; the grunts of shame echoed in her heart. Once, she had been beautiful, and traces of that beauty still flickered in the smooth lines of her face and the occasional flash of elegance in her smile. One could only imagine the poise she once effortlessly commanded in her youth.

 

Socializing had morphed into a laborious task, and the world felt blind to her existence. With each step, she paused to observe those bustling around her, yet no one noticed her anymore. If one dared to gaze into her eyes, they would glimpse the profound intelligence that once illuminated her fame. But those eyes remained unnoticed, like silent stars hidden by an indifferent sky, and no child lingered by her side to offer warmth. She had never found the time to nurture one, nor did she believe she could be affectionate toward an infant.

 

Where are those flashy cars that once heralded her arrival? I have heard whispers of the homes she shattered, leaving wives trembling in despair. She jested and stole from their children with a laugh that echoed through their pain. How men flocked to her, drawn to her like flies to a noxious scent! She walked unashamed, her eloquence celebrated, while her desirability was described in hushed, reverent tones.

 

I ask, where are the mighty men who promised her forever, those conquerors of oceans who swore to grant her heaven, claiming to possess the world? Ah! Where are you, who once knew her as a girl full of promise? Who was the first to break her hymen? Did you never whisper the words of loyalty, advising her to remain unbroken? Where have you gone? And what of the clergy who promised her deliverance after moments of passion? Have you turned a deaf ear now? Once, she could ensnare your attention with the allure of her sweet perfume, and you staggered beneath the weight of your flattering lies, rejoicing in prophetic fabrications that soothed her itching ears.

 

A nauseating stench awakened the neighbors from their slumber, where once the fragrance of flowers had flourished. Now, a forgotten queen lay dead—unknown and unremembered by those who once adored her. She died alone, empty, unsafe, and consigned to the earth as if she were worth nothing at all. The community was left astounded, the nation speechless, and the nearby church oblivious to her passing. Questions loomed like impending storms, ready to break; only silence roamed the streets. When she was born, someone loved her and kissed her face. A woman, my question is: why didn’t you listen? To that poor evangelist who sought to share with you the truth of a God who loved you? He spoke of the one man who could deliver Heaven on earth and in the afterlife—not swayed by your beauty, nor the allure of your body. Why didn’t you listen? 

 

She never recognized the purpose of her trials, the pit of despair she had fallen into. If she had comprehended, she would have cried out to God for help, for her Father is always eager to answer.

 

If she had heeded His call, God would have healed, forgiven, and restored all that sin had shattered. She could have exchanged beauty for ashes, shame for glory, weeping for joy. Or she could have received love and romance from the one who truly cares. Here, she could have known fulfillment, and in the afterlife, even more.

 

Now, I ask: when will you accept Jesus Christ? When will you allow Him to reveal how He has conquered your heart and is willing to restore your soul? When will your striving culminate in rest?

When will you decide that it is God or nothing?

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