Colour My Grey

Amy knew about walking the line.  Even as a child, she had watching eyes that took in every detail.  The mood of a place seeped quickly into her bones.

She lived by the disapproving contour of her mother’s mouth and the constant furrow between her father’s eyebrows.  She died by the way they would so quickly turn away from her to other things.

Amy played carefully, ran carefully and laughed carefully.  She dreamed in limited colours – aware that her palette had not been graced with a full range of shades and hues.  She guarded those colours she did have – all too aware of what pitch black felt like to the touch.

She could not help the stabs that pierced her gut, however, each time their smiling faces caught her eye.  She envied the swirl of bright material around their ankles, the hop, skip and jump to their walk.  How their hands fit so well into the hands ever ready for theirs.

She would busy herself then with straightening what might have moved skew with the longing: each wistful emotion was carefully captured and soberly placed deep within her small, tight heart.  She kept her desires small, her dreams small and her expectations smaller.  She bit manageable pieces out of her life.  She chose to love inanimate things and maintained suspicion towards the living.

One day, however, the seams to her skin, her soul, her heart began to fray.  Thin, hairline cracks appeared across her resolve.  She felt the break coming.  It felt like dying to her.  She balked against it.  Clawed for stable ground.  She knew how ridiculous she looked- stretching in too many directions after the scattering pieces.

It was then that Love stepped in.

And Love was knowing.  He hunkered down to her level, looked her straight in the eye. She could see His laugh lines.

“What do we have here?”  Love asked.

“Amy.”  She mouthed, overwhelmed with relief.

“And what can I do for you Amy?” Loved asked.  She knew that it was more for her benefit than His.  She knew that He knew her.  He was asking to be let in.  He was in no rush either.  He leaned up against the wall with her, waiting.

“Um…”  Amy bit her lip and pointed to the seams undone, the structures collapsed, the resolve gone.

“Messy, isn’t it?”

Amy shut her eyes tightly and nodded- feeling an ache large enough to engulf her.

Oh, God, You are Big Enough, aren’t You?  She sneaked a peak at His profile.  It was impossible to dislike Him.
I have been looking for someone Big Enough my entire life, God.  No one has been Big Enough.  Not one.  I have had to do it all alone.

Love pulled her close.  She trusted Him!

“I am now going to ugly cry.”  She warned Him, feeling the disappointment of years begin to rise.

After a long time, He stood up, pulling her to her feet.  Out of nowhere an palette appeared, dotted with wet, resplendent colour.

Handing her a paintbrush and an easel, He began to smile.

“Now, dear one, it is about time to colour your grey…”


4 thoughts on “Colour My Grey

  1. Jean, you have a precious gift. You have moved me to tears, this is one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I have ever experienced.

    • Thanks Debs.
      I was reading through one of my journals and found the beginnings of this one this morning. I do that plenty- write things and then forget about them.

      I am wanting what i write to strike a chord but sorry about the shatterment! 😉


  2. Dear Jean,

    You are a very talented writer and I really am enjoying reading your blog. Keep it up – you are an inspiration to many!

    Lots of love to you 🙂

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