Beginning

There are opposing forces in me; two separate but entirely equal impulses: "let go, give in, submit" and "fightfightfight!!"

Insolent, independent, defiant.
Compliant, needy, eager to please.
Him. Only Him.

I want to taunt Him, challenge His resolve. Assert that He can not break me, shouldn't try. I want to set my jaw and breathe the slow, deep breaths of battle lines drawn. I want to fight and resist Him. To punish Him for even trying to break through.
And.
I want to bow my head, lay myself out as offering. I want to plead for mercy. I want to receive Him, to take whatever comes as treasure, as gift, as blessing. I want to be led away from comfort, led from the oxygen that feeds my consciousness, away from the presence of anything but that sweet sting of smack.

But that is challenging Him, too. Taking it, accepting the fury of His love without complaint is asking (demanding) more. Harder. Better. Stronger.

I want to demand "stop" and "more" in the same sharp inhalation of breath.
I want to count these bruises as memento, this proof of life, these love letters as they bloom and fade and are replaced.

He is also a study in contrasts: kind and sweet and gentle, but also unyielding and absolute. Consistent and unpredictable.

He is hard like granite, smooth and icy and unbreakable.
He is pliable and sweet, tender and careful.

His strength is a lush and fragrant valley, abundance and comfort. It is safety and respite. It is calming.
His weakness is barren rock, hot desert. Badlands.

I avoid the Badlands.
My impulse is to set out like an explorer, pack filled with provisions, ready to discover, to tame. That impulse is foolish - I would never make it through that wild.
He would never forgive my trespass.

He will break me. He will push me past breaking.
He will watch as I disappear and then rise again like a Phoenix.