The Gypsy Woman will never be the same.
It’s been a couple of months since I was able to blog, and now I place my footsteps forward because my journey has taken the unexpected turn. My spirit covered in the grove of trees realizes that my life has curled and crawled into the recesses of the deep, good Mother Earth and taken root.
I have been called to this ministry of professing God’s Good Word; of spreading the Good News of Jesus Christ. The gates of doubt are closed to me forever.
So in this space of cyberspace I fill these spaces with the words that I struggled with, pondered over, attempted to perfect and finally opened up my soul to the power of the Holy Spirit-spoke what Life the Creator had filled me with, and let it go.
These words are the only way I can express what the Gospel means, in my poetic spirit. I welcome any comments but realize that how you may translate the Gospel is different from how I see it, through my connection to the eternal drums which flood my soul.
I am still a Gypsy in process.
I am not perfect, but God’s Love is.
I may stumble, but Jesus Christ cradles and understands me.
I may falter, but the Holy Spirit ignites my very being.
Lape Bondye, God’s Peace.
The memory of standing snug in the Observatory and being close enough to touch the darkness over the summer still resonates within my soul.
My apologizes for not posting for some time but the Semester raced by me as I rested in the Valley, gripping my hand and pulling me close onto the beautiful roan speckled horse, speeding towards the mists of Avalon.
As I had been contemplating where I should sit among black sandy beaches of Theology there was exposed to my soul an entirely new way that I should view this ministry and mission that the Creator has set my being sail on. I did not realize that what I was voicing actually had a name: ancestral theology. I did not realize what Pneumentology actually would mean to who I was as a child of God and as a Gypsy sitting hidden, watching in the shadow of the Cross. I did not realize how much people’s souls pour out into their poetry, their songs and what the artistic means for us as people of Faith.
God meant for us as His children to joyfully cry out in songs and praise for it is there He is closer to our hearts and in our presence more than we will know.
As for me, although I had reluctantly donned the humorous costume of the Wise Woman, apparently I still make My Father eternally laugh. He reaches across time and space and pulls out the weeping gray cloud weeds I had planted, reaching in and cradling the richness of the Earth. My voice was lost in sadness carried by soft, warm summer rains and all He could do was smile. “Daughter of many colors, I am not done with you yet.”
Lape Bondye, God’s Peace.