Remolding
Rays of sunlight filtered through the cream curtains, brightening the room slightly. Clothes lay scattered across the white marble floor — some in piles, others alone — alongside books and torn papers. The room looked as though it had been vandalized, except the destruction had been caused by the petite woman sitting on the queen-sized bed.
She too was a mess, but she didn’t really care. After all, no one was there to see her as she was. The thought brought both comfort and sadness: comfort because she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone, and sadness because it was meant to be a special day for her.
Brown eyes traced the features of the man in the picture frame she held in her hands — his smile frozen in time, a smile she had loved, and stupidly still loved. The picture was taken last year at an old friend's birthday. Yet as she studied it, she began to notice the cracks in the perfect love she once believed they shared. The ends of his lips didn’t curve as softly as they had at the beginning of their relationship, and he looked a bit bored. Her eyes zoned in on how his right hand wrapped limply around her waist, a space between them
There was never space between them. Never.
How could she have not noticed he had started pulling away long before the recent months?
Her eyes filled with tears for the umpteenth time that morning. She placed the picture carefully on the bed, afraid that if she handled it roughly it might break — sealing the reality of her situation. A sigh escaped her lips as her eyelids closed.
What was she doing? Why was she still trying to hold on to the remains of a relationship that had already fallen apart?
‘You’re the air I breathe, Wemimo.’
Oh, hope.
Or perhaps it was the stubborn belief that he would come back to her — come back to propose.
She let her head fall back onto the bedrest. A scream rose from deep in her stomach, but it escaped only as a strangled breath. The pressure in her chest was unbearable. There were so many words she wanted to say to him, but the time had passed. When he had spoken the truths he truly thought of her, his words echoed in her mind:
‘Wemimo, don’t think I never loved you. I did — so much. But it got hard. You constantly ignored my words whenever I spoke about meeting my parents. You dressed how you liked, knowing how much they loathed revealing clothes. And still, you wore them. Do you know how embarrassing it was to walk beside you? To sit beside you at gatherings, while every man in the room had eyes for you? Staring at all your assets on display? And you didn’t even try to hide the satisfaction you felt from the attention! Or was my attention not enough?!’
She wouldn’t allow herself to be vulnerable again — at least, not with him.
What about me?
Her eyes snapped open at the voice. She held her breath, tears stinging her eyes. She knew that voice well — it was the voice she had ignored for a long time. Yet He came when she needed Him, without so much as a request.
She bit her lip and stared at the ceiling, wanting to scream, wanting to ask why He had let it happen — why He had allowed her to be hurt again. But no words came. She had brought this upon herself. He had not truly left her. He had spoken, and she had gone on to do what she wanted. This was her doing.
Talk to me. Speak. Do not hide from me.
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His voice came again, soft as it always was. She had never heard a voice so gentle. It was a sound that could easily be missed if one was not paying attention — if the heart was loud.
But hers was loud. So how had she heard Him?
I tuned it so you may hear.
She imagined a smile on His face — warm and welcoming. Her eyes drifted to her Bible on the nightstand beside the bed. The cover had a thin layer of dust, and the sight broke her heart. Reaching for it, a verse came to her mind: Jeremiah 18:4–6. She opened it and read:
“⁴And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it. ⁵Then the word of the LORD came to me, saying,⁶O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter? saith the LORD. Behold, as the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel.”
— Jeremiah 18:4–6
Wemimo stared at the words, shocked. He still wanted her, even after her constant ignoring. She pressed her lips together as she closed her eyes, then opened her mouth to speak.
“LORD, I know I have ignored You for a long time, and I have no excuse.” She paused. “I was wrapped up in the bliss of being in a relationship with a man I believed would be mine. You know my story — it hasn’t been pretty. I have been looked down upon by many because of how I dress; my ex didn’t even spare me. I know I should change, but every time I try, I end up going back to those dresses. You said you don’t look at outward appearance but at the heart — yet you still care what I wear.”
Silence followed, but she continued.
“You’ve said in Your Word that You are the potter and I am the clay.” She shook her head. “But why would You still want to have me? I ignore You, disobey You, yet You still keep coming….why?”
I love you without condition, Wemimo, and I also want you without condition. But it is up to you to accept my love. I only desire for you to open up yourself to me — without a veil.
She took a moment to take in His words. “How can I, LORD?” Her voice cracked.
Sit with me.
Wemimo got off the bed, sank to the floor, and clasped her hands together. Again she felt the pressure in her chest, the sting in her eyes, and the lump in her throat.
“LORD, help me.” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she prayed. “Help me to change. I'm not asking because I want to dress modestly; I'm asking because I want the kind of change that comes from my heart and reflects in my lifestyle. So remold me into the woman You intend for me to be.”
After the prayer left her lips, she felt a calm settle over her. The corners of her lips stretched into a soft smile. She brought her hands to her lips and whispered a quiet thank you. Wemimo knew the journey she was embarking on with the LORD, her Father, wasn’t one that would be easy. But she knew He would hold her through it — and that was a comfort.
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Hiiii, I have been gone for a long while. But I will me back this year with more works, hopefully by God’s grace.
Stay blessed ♥
