As I lay in bed I thought about how I’m like a ragdoll. I’m like a worn out stuffed animal with torn bitten edges and rough molten fabric. That in its own value it would never have gotten any far. It’d be deserved to be put to rest in the garbage. It should be too filthy and unhygienic to be placed beside anything remotely fresh or new as my ruggedness might be contagious. I smell. I’m unsightly. I’m unfashionable. I should be tucked away in secret attics, under dusty floorboards or in corners of large closets together with old lego boxes and barbie dolls from 2nd grade.
But there in bed I lay and I saw my saviour. That rugged as I am, He loves me. And just like a ragdoll He is the reason why I’m still laying in the lap of luxury and enjoying the intimacy of my master. He’s my King and I love Him. And He keeps me close though I am valueless and there I find my identity, my security. He’s the one who gave me a room in his palace. He prepares my place for me. I have my little spot close to His resting place. And when I sleep His breath will be breeze that caresses top of my head.I will hear His secrets and so will He for me.
Rough around the edges and that’s how He likes His girl. So who am I to complain? It’s the best place I can be.
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