Barbie Loflin

My friend, Mary, is beautiful… both inside and out.She is everything you think a woman should be.Petite, olive skin, dark hair and eyes… she is quite lovely.I probably could have handled all of that if she wasn’t so sweet, gentle, compassionate, merciful and genuinely anointed.

Anyway, for some reason God chose to link our hearts and our paths for a season, and I found myself constantly comparing myself to her.I wanted to look like her, speak like her, and even minister like her.

I remember quite vividly the day when the Lord pointed out the vast difference between us.We were both ministering at a women’s gathering when a woman approached me concerning some family issues.Her son, a habitual wife abuser had been placed in jail for some other offense.I looked at her and said, “Good.This may be just what he needs to straighten his life out.”I meant it.I truly thought it was good that he was in jail and could think about his actions.

I watched as later in the evening the same woman approached my friend, and I knew she was telling her the exact story.To my dismay, Mary threw her arms around the woman and said, “Oh, I am so sorry you are going through this…”

In that moment I knew we were quite different… physically, fundamentally and definitely in spiritual inclination.Her driving anointing was mercy, mine was and still is prophetic.She is compassionate.I see things black and white for the most part.

Do I think I was wrong?No.Do I think Mary was wrong?No.Do I think people like her approach better than my own?Oh, definitely.Am I okay with that?

Finally.

God paints us in varied colors… and oh, what a Master He is.

Sunset

Why do you spend your life admiring someone else’s sunset?

You think it is so very beautiful,

You behold the pastel colors and sigh with envy.

“Why must I walk under these clouds?” you ask.

“Why do you love her so much more than I?

Why did you make her thus?”

You are childish in so many ways.

If I placed upon your brow the most beautiful countenance,

Were I to hold a mirror in front of your face,

You would still see a tainted visage,

For you do not see with My eyes.

You see what others have taught you to see.

You wish and pray and hope for what you already have.

You cry for beauty when you posses it in plenty.

You weep for losses that you yourself have cast away.

You believe lies when I shout the truth from the housetop.

Prophecy given says you were painted in bold colors.

You hide behind the brown and wheat.

You want to blend, when I have said stand out.

Her sunset would never satisfy you with its pale hues.

Though peaceful and quite serene.

Look well to your own sky.

I Am the lifter of your head.

When I lift your head, no soul can cause it to drop again in shame.

When I lift your head, you will see your sunset.

Reds, blue, purples, gold’s,

Flashes of fiery beauty,

Blazing across a canvass prepared for you and you alone.

Look up, Daughter!

The Master is painting!”