As You do.

Original pen and ink drawing for "The Weaker Sex," illustration by Charles Dana Gibson
I had a different experience today,
one I'm not sure I have had before.
I have walked into countless churches,
countless times.
Since I was a babe.
I have always felt the part,
(Mostly) Always welcomed.
At least not rejected.
Until today.
One step in.
Two ladies, hair piled atop their heads
Skirts grazing floor.
One. Looking right through me,
Shaking her head
From side to side.
So blatant, so sure,
Of me.
But what did I do?
My dress? It doesn't reach the floor.
My hair? It's trimmed and hangs down past my jaw.
"Our hair, our glory."
My mind recalls these words from days passed.
By people who love the same God as I.
By those who strive for "perfect love."
Out of place. Uncomfortable.
In a building with a portrait
Of the very same Christ I try to serve.
It's my turn,
to say:
I am sorry.
For the times I have walked away,
based on your clothes,
your hair,
your opinion,
or your education.
I am called
To love.
My brother, sister, friend.
The stranger. The lost. The broken.
The ladies with the long hair.
The long skirts.
Forgive me, Father.
For not seeing them as You do.
For not loving them as You do.


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