An Answered Prayer
I feel you with the cadence of love
I speak your name covered in the honey of love
I show you that love has chosen you every day, even when you didn’t call out for love
Hi love.
Welcome home love.
You’re safe here love.
I’ve been waiting on you, love.
love.
love. BrittanyK.W., June 27, 2023
What if I told you the thing that you desire is on the opposite side of you letting go? What if I told you your own self-doubt is what is holding you hostage? More often than not, that which we hold onto out of attachment is the very thing detaching us from the blessing we've been waiting on. That thing we hold onto-- the location, the job, the friendship, the relationship-- knows its season has ended, but we allow it to stay because that's what we know. We settle because we fear that if we let go of the one thing that's been a constant something better won't come along. That if we leave the relationship, love won't come knocking at our door again-- that somebody won't come and honor us the way we've been hoping to be honored. Seen the way we desire to be seen. Heard the way we want to be heard. Touched the way we want to be touched. Loved the way we want to be loved.
And then, God rips it out our hands because we play too damn much with God's patience, and just like we don't know how to hold in a surprise, God doesn't know how to hold back blessings, so the distractions get moved when we least expect it, and while there may be hurt, there will always be a reminder that God stills exists, and your prayers haven't fallen on deaf ears.
--
"You're healing," he said, as he turned his attention towards the waiter who was holding two plates atop a matte black marble serving tray, her eyes piercing the point where his beard and sideburns merge, as his eyes were no longer reflecting hers.
"We have an order of truffle fries and plantain Caribbean tacos," said the waiter as he placed the matte` black dishes at the center of the table. "May I get you all anything else in the meantime, or are we ready to order?"
"May you bring one set of plastic utensils and a cup of hot water? May we also have your veggie delight with rice and peas opposed to coconut rice and the herb marinated rack of lamb?"
"How would you like your lamb cooked?"
"Well done."
Knowing my order without asking-- well done, sir.
"I'll put that in right now and bring your water and utensils," said the waiter, as he closed his miniature black notebook before refilling their empty glasses of water.
"Now back to you, you're healing," he said with eyes that were gentle and silently saying that this space between them was safe enough for vulnerability.
"Aren't we all?"
"Yes, but your healing is rooted in people abandoning you, and..." his words were cut short by a woman battling trembles in her throat, birthed from an attempt to hold back tears.
"Aht! Aht!"
This was not on the agenda for today! Melody was fanning the banks of a river that weren't prepared for the intensity of the waves wanting to flow downstream, so she tilted her head back and let the cool air flowing from her flapping hands serve as her support system, while inquisitively asking, "You read my blog?"
"I did. You're an eloquent writer, and you're an even more beautiful lover."
She couldn't tell if it was birthed from the depths of the laughter that served as a defense mechanism for her embarrassment or her inability to control the emotions she's left buried within her being, but her laughs were accompanied my gentle tears that rest in the crevice above her high chocolate cheekbones, and all she could do was allow herself the moment to cleanse without asking for permission, while still finding reason to apologize.
"I am so sorry," she uttered as she used the table as support in an attempt to excuse herself from the table, before the warmth of his gentle, yet masculine, hands covered both of hers.
"You don't have to run from yourself; you don't have to run from me," he said, releasing his right hand from the top of her left hand, using it to wipe an escaped tear with his dinner napkin. "This is a reminder that you are human-- a reminder that you still believe in love, no matter what experiences love has brought to you."
"I believe in love so much that I overlook so much in the name of love--"
"Love will never ask you to dishonor yourself, Mel. A wise woman once said, 'Love will never ask you to stay where you aren't watered. It won't ask you to be a revolving door to emotionally unavailable people. Love won't ask you to let people play with you.' That ain't love Mel."
Not him memorizing lines from my blog. Not this man using my words against me.
The memorized lines served as a mirror for him while he read her blog on the night they had FaceTimed for the first time. Across from him was the writer of the unsaid words that were caged in the hearts of women he once desired but never loved well. Across from him was a woman who could relate to them. But with Melody, Marcus wanted things to be different-- doing well by Melody would be his redemption. It would be his ode to every woman he'd ever damaged without care.
"I know you went to medical school, but I didn't know you were Dr. Love, honey," said Melody, her words floating above the melody of her gentle laughter.
"Really funny. Couldn't wait to use that one, huh?"
"You think I'm funny?"
He hated to admit it, but her humor was one of his favorite things about her. She was witty, and as complex as it was to understand, some of her most funniest moments were a result of her being serious.
"I do. You know what else I think?"
"What might that be?"
"I think you're the most beautiful woman anybody in this restaurant has ever seen," he said as he caressed the base of her chin, lifting the head of the woman who no longer knew how to accept compliments without becoming small. "I think you're worthy of a good and honest love. I think you are a woman people pray for."
"Marcus, don't..."
"Your heart is pure, Mel. May it be a little bruised and still healing? Sure, but Mel, it'd take a fool to let you go. They'd have to be blind to not see the value of you-- the gift of you. An answered prayer if I can say that. Mine, actually."
She was speechless, and in that moment she realized she'd never taken a sip of her wine, and this was the perfect time.
Marcus knew he couldn't handle Melody the way he handled others. He was going to love this woman right. He was going to love this woman with an intention to be her safe space. To love her in an honorable way. To love her so much so that she feels free to love without hesitation. To love her in a way that heals her and reminds her that God still believes in love and chances.
This was his chance, and he was going to get it right– at least he was going to try.
"Well, I hope you're not a fool," she said, in an attempt to lighten the mood before her feelings started seeping through her clothes. How dare this man try to have me pass out in front of all of these people?
"I was valedictorian."
"Excuse, the hell out of me."
"Promise me if I ever dishonor you, you'll honor yourself and leave me before I hurt you-- although, I never intend to do so."
"Marc--"
"I have one veggie delight with rice and peas and a rack of lamb, well done," the waiter said as he placed the plates down in front of the respective person. "Can I get you all anything else?"
"No, thank you," Melody said, smiling at the waiter, before he departed without having to grab the appetizer dishes. They'd gone untouched, and one thing Melody won't do is eat a cold fry.
Gently grabbing her hands, Marcus began to pray over the food, and knowing the Lord knew her heart, she stared as the man who sat across from her began to utter honey-coated words into God's ear.
God, how is he so perfect? God, you know it doesn't take me long to know I love somebody or to want to journey to love with somebody, but I just don't want the heartbreak. I'm scared to do this again. So, please, give me a sign. Let a waiter drop or spill something to let me know this one is the one.
Her silent prayer was interrupted by the bass in the voice of the most beautiful man in the room when he uttered one of the most prominent words in his and her vocabulary.
"Amen."
"Amen."
"Did you even pray?"
"Actually, yes I--"
"Oh my goodness! I am so sorry, ma'am." Another waiter was on his knees trying to pick up glass while simultaneously apologizing to the couple sitting at the table to Mel's right, having spilled a glass of red wine on the man's navy blue pants. Before Mel looked over at the fiasco, she realized remnants of the wine had splattered on her creme suede thigh-high boots that stopped at the base of the Queen Nefertiti tattoo on the anterior portion of her thigh-- the burgundy droplets forming a design resembling a whole heart, contrary to the shattered heart she was used to, broken by lovers of her past.
The present was offering something different.
God, you ain't have to do it like that.
--
Beloved, God heard your prayers. God knows your heart, but what you're accepting and holding onto isn't showing God that you truly want what you're asking for. When we keep a firm grip on that which we've outgrown, we're showing God we don't have faith in our own prayers. We're telling God we don't find ourselves deserving of the very things we've been praying for and manifesting. God knows we're worthy, but we don't journey as if we know. We try to take everybody and everything with us, or sometimes, we just choose to stay. That's our safety net, even though it may not be our safe space.
The very thing you want, is on the opposite of letting go.
Whenever you're ready, Beloved.
I love you.
Talk to you soon. xo- Britt 🌹