PFTW: Bobby A – Fig Leaves & Pharisees

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She’s walking through a forest of fig trees.

They stand so mighty and proud, with branches so high and wide that they completely block out the Sun’s light.

Her hair is just about combed… Her teeth are just about brushed.

Her dress doesn’t hide the fact that her skin is red raw and her body is covered in scratches and claw marks.

Her size four dolly shoes hang precariously off her twitching fingers as she walks through the enclosure.

The trees begin to shed their leaves as they create an emerald walkway for her, but all this floral carpet is doing is obscuring thorns that pierce her feet as they try and force her out of their sanctuary.

It’s clear she isn’t welcome here.

Leaves fall like a tundra of green snowflakes with such icy intent it makes her tears feel like they’re freezing against her cheeks.

Her pride won’t let her close her eyes… Not that she needs them.

She’s no longer walking by sight. She’s walking by faith. Faith is her guide. Faith is telling her to keep on chugging. Faith is telling her not to stop or look back. Faith is telling her to keep on moving forward.

Faith is telling her not to listen to the whispers of the trees.

The ones saying things like,

“She got way too close to him”…
“She always did look like she was flirting with him”…
“I told her not to go to his house”…

She has no words to say… She couldn’t even if she wanted to.

If she attempts to open her mouth, the word being held behind her 32 pearly bars would be set free.

This four letter word should only have been known to her because it was in her dictionary.

Now it is etched deep on the pages of her skin and no matter how hard she bathes at or tries to use her nails as an eraser, this story would forever be tattoo’d on her body.

This story is intoxicating; it has these fig trees so drunk on speculation that in that moment’s spirit they produced all manner of beautiful looking fruit.

Who knew love, kindness, patience, gentleness and goodness could taste so sour and bitter.

She did.

Then again fig trees were never supposed to produce apples, grapes and bananas at the same time.

And so she keeps walking…Walking through this forest of fig trees.

They stand so mighty and proud, with branches so high and wide as they try to completely block out the Son’s light.

Her hair is just about combed… Her teeth are just about brushed.

Her dress doesn’t hide the fact that her skin is red raw and her body is covered in scratches and claw marks.

She stops at the mercy seat and there’s not a whisper or fig leaf in sight.

All she sees is a burning bush.

Her size four dolly shoes finally drop from her fingers.

She doesn’t need them now.

After all…
She’s on holy ground.

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