“A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds … She’s like a trading ship that sails away to faraway places and brings back exotic surprises.”[1] That’s right; a good woman is, in a manner of speaking, rather like a pirate, and thus I have always felt. With a longing for the sea that transcends logic and a rough tomboyish quality to all I do, I seem destined for such a role in history. Even the innate beauty I do possess appears in weathered hues and the salty sting of the wind off the sea … and yet, in such an environment, I am comfortable, at home, and pleased to survey my domain.
Standing on the bow of the unknown, clinging to the lines of determination and hope, my beauty hidden, as gems in a leather pouch near my heart, I am a formidable warrior in my own right. As all pirates must, I am wary in giving my trust or my allegiance to anyone besides the crew I serve alongside. Among outsiders, I am vastly disliked, feared even, perceived as a radical, a corrupting influence to the lukewarm faith of the mainland. But that’s the way I like it. A brave few find it appealing, and sign on to sail with me, to wage war on “life as usual” and pursue “life with purpose” instead. Calloused and weathered by the sea, I leave ports of call with little remorse, bid farewell to acquaintances and friends with little ceremony when the Ship of the Spirit moves on, content to sail with fellow Pirates of Grace. Am I afraid of uncharted waters? Deliciously so. But it’s never stopped me from pursuing the treasure of a life well lived.
What about this vagrant life is appealing? Wherein lies the beauty of a woman who is so lost in tomboyish pursuits, who is so strong, so fearless, so far removed from the frills and dainties of traditional femininity? Where does any pirate find beauty? In a merry heart, in depth of mind, in unswerving faith in the Captain, of course. Furthermore, a pirate’s beauty lies in her ability to dream of treasure awaiting on some distant shore, in her tenacious ability to take action to attain it and not just dream about it, and in her faithful retelling of the legends of other great pirates, passed on to stir up courage, to inspire and rally morale. But most of all, a pirate’s beauty is in the things she so often conceals: the scars of past battles, battles that have required so much of her, that have stretched her ability to believe, that have left her gasping for breath at the end of the day. Such is my beauty. My scars, numerous and deep, are reminders of how close that enemy, Death (of loved ones, of dreams, of self), came to prematurely snuffing out my adventure. At the initial point of injury, they were hideous, gaping wounds, horrendously painful and grotesque to behold. But as time allowed them to heal, they have become a part of me, have shaped my destiny, have led me to new adventures and allowed me access to friendships I would not have had. They have demanded strength of me, caused me to grow in my faith … and they are beautiful. Though I would never willingly relive them, I cannot wish them away. They are a part of my soul, my story, my journey. They are the diamond in the sack of gems near my heart.
Do I like myself, you ask? Does any pirate, I wonder? Aren’t there days, when even a pirate, despises their radical disinterest in conventional mores? Of course. There are days I long to belong to the mainland, for life to be simpler and more stable. Yet, those are days of weakness, of a soul-crushing dehydration. When I am refreshed, when I am well, when I can survey the horizon in my right mind – I am proud to be an adventurer, to have survived, to stand strong, to live recklessly abandoned to the will of my Savior, the Captain of my Salvation. I am proud to travel on in pursuit of His Glory. I am pleased to be one in His service, and I am aware of the fierce inner beauty that is mine.
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