Barely blossoming,
Neither woman nor child.
Not understanding my creation
Or the world’s.
Not seeing a purpose in being…

Till you rent the veil,
And confusion melted.
In a moment of repentance,
The abstract became reality.

Abba, Father,
Now I am yours.
A royal daughter,
By a sacrifice not my own.

At fourteen,
Now an heir,
A servant-in-the-making,
A disciple,
A sojourner awaiting the return of, Messiah.

At fourteen,
Young eyes saw the truth and
It made all the difference.