There we were framed in a moment of time. We were mounted by a prophetic promise and vow that was holding it all in place. The nails that it hung on, were the same ones that held Jesus to the Cross-love. It began to lean to the side and the picture was now suspended in air. I didn't know if the love was strong enough to keep us in place. The image was no longer clear. I couldn't see him anymore in the picture with the kids and me. I thought mine would be different from all the other marriages that ended up destroyed and torn by adultery. The picture was ripped.
I was suddenly thrown in a dark room.
But in my spirit I had negatives that needed to be developed. I could see us together; we were called to the multitudes. My tears became the solution that allowed me to see the images that were still hid to the naked eye. I was interceding in the dark and even when it didn’t looked like anything; I still kept praying.
1 Corinthians 7:1616 For what knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy husband? or how knowest thou, O man, whether thou shalt save thy wife?
When I wanted to stop praying, I couldn't. I was compelled. I was driven to this dark place where only God could help me see what no one else could. He was sharing his eternal secrets and causing the passions of Christ to be developed from the negatives in me.
Deuteronomy 29:29 The secret things belong unto the Lord our God: but those things which are revealed belong unto us and to our children forever, that we may do all the words of this law.
It was in this place, that I would discover the beauty of who he had created me to be. Why did I have to go through this? Why me? I was torn, split and I desperately wanted to quit. I didn't even know why I still wanted to be married anymore. But other things began to appear in the negatives as I kept weeping. The solution for the images was producing a clearer picture. It was no longer about what he was or wasn't doing, if he loved me or not, how angry and bitter I had become. I had finally gotten passed me, passed us. I began to see my great-grandmother, Clara Muhammad. I was close enough now to the negatives, that I could hear her cries and her cries became mine.
