{ Repost: God’s reason for making women - Xaria }

I made you to be bright. To be the delicate parts of my fingers. The harp strings that sing birds to sleep. The rise and fall of a baby’s chest.

I made women to be bread makers, to sift over their houses and take joy in the tiniest details that I plant lovingly for their sensitivities.

To appreciate only certain parts of me.

To see only certain parts of me.

I made women to be my helper. To be my sister, my mother, my wife, my gorgeous daughters. All in a line, all different, all pieces of snow. Majestic in the way a tree stands above mans head, yet bends it’s blossoms to release their pure scent down to them.

I made you to be robust in your bravery, but not the kind that sheds blood, not the kind that uproots, and mocks. You are brave to show proud men how to be humble and upright at once. How to show them patience and grace.

I made you to sweep across lit stages in both theaters, and sunlight. To float somehow over all others, and only in the eyes of your husband. To be a continuing letter that he opens each day.

I made you to be strong.

To be a sea.

Soft sometimes, but with storms that they must survive and sail through. That they must take. Men are not meant to only take the easy parts of you. They need to mast up to the whole thing. Tighten their sails and throw their excess weight overboard. To get calluses on their rough hands from tying their knots to secure their positions. You are the wind and the waves, be they calm or monstrous.

I made you to be my pin-drop-step beauty. To waltz through and laugh with your lungs wide open, and have that noise cause tingling in the lower back of your mate. For him to crave that assurance he can only get from your laughter. That song to his ears, that subtle melody that lifts him. Makes his toes glide behind himself as he careens, sloe-eyed, to your sweet-almond self.

I made you to be respected by all. To be respected by yourself.

To look at your reflection in the water of a lake and see me. To outcry my creation in the way you are built. All these things, you spindle around you and only unravel to the ones who earn it.

I protect you, I cry out to keep you in a locket until someone honorable enough is granted with the key. Others may try and sit on your shoulders, to step on your feet, but you are my woman. I made you to be exactly what you are.

Invaluable and never ending.

The lace that enthrones my Spirit.