First, it was a sweeping wall of dynamic flame, joyously roaring, as holiness. Outlines of secret trees were barely visible in the bottom right corner. Luminous orange and yellow billows of oil paint.
Months passed. Not forgotten, but there was no more…
Then, after a morning of unexplained tears during worship and gift of relieving sleep, next colors were present when eyes opened. Blue–crashing, powerful, and upset waters. White-foamed and threatening, they reached from the sky and began to submerge the secret trees, being released among them.
Months passed again. The receiver was thought to be known, but the purpose was not. Such animation and motion, agitation and passion…
At last, days before the window of presence after long separation, a girl was glimpsed walking through the flames. She was in them–all around her was flames and immense heat–she was engulfed. But she was alive. She was transparent, as the flames were her color and body’s substance.
Who was this one so loved, chosen to be so purified? Who was this one surviving and enduring through such a long pain? Who was this one with a white-hot core of being still clinging to here?
She is real; she is my friend. And now the painting is at home with her, speaking to her His words never meant for me. Though I have heard whispers that such words came from the trees…
When you face stormy seas I will be there with you with endurance and calm;
you will not be engulfed in raging rivers.
If it seems like you are walking through fire with flames licking at your limbs,
you won’t be burned.
Isaiah 43:2 (VOICE)