So, today I was woken up at 7:48am.
There was no alarm, no loud sound. No groggy feeling and desire to return to sleep.
Just a stillness that I knew meant my God wanted to speak with me.
He told me some stuff like, turn to channel 12. The day show was on, I think.
(I think that was just a test of my obedience.)
Anyway, God showed me something like this:
A father, holding his daughter is what looks to be the softest, fluffiest pink blanket ever. And he offers her to a man standing in front of him, with a sorrow so clear in your eyes, you feel it in your own heart. I still feel it. And God seemed to say something like this, : “Such it is when a man gives his daughter away to marriage.”
Another vision was the same father, but this time the daughter was a toddler. He was walking her down the aisle.
And God said this, : “Such is it for any man who gives his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Understanding? No matter what the age, a father always feels as though he is giving his baby (literally), baby girl to someone else. It is the strength of the father, to give his daughter into another man’s protection, to trust another human with his daughter’s life, but it is also his sorrow.

Then, God danced with me. La Rumba and the Hustle. While spinning and stepping, I spoke to God my recent worries and prayers. Ending our dance with me hugging his waist, admitting that I wanted to be nothing but His.

I lay on the floor, prostrate in prayer.
I’ll try to explain what I saw.
Imagine this: A man walks up, his face is a blur, he has on a tan hat. He walks a few steps, and stops as he reaches a tree with small, round red berries all over it. His hand, only a blur, the fingers are not readily distinguishable, lifts up, and removes a berry from it’s own pair of leaves. An older man, the father, watches from the tree, hidden mostly by the other leaves and branches. At this moment, the feeling he has is mostly bitter, the sweet has yet to come.

God whispers this to me, “Like a man picking the choicest berry from a tree, is a daughter plucked from the hands of her father.”

Understanding? Parents spend their lives, the better part at least, nurturing us, and attempting to prune all the bad things from us. Time, effort, love and care are poured into us. Yet, a man can come, and, in the blink of an eye, remove us from his (the father’s) reach of care and protection.
We (the daughters) now fit in the palm of this new hand. The hand of our husband, trusting that he will never throw us to the ground unwanted, or crush out of us the little juice we can muster with his heel. And our father watches, hoping the same. Though the tree provides everything the berry needs during its time attached to it, once it falls, or is removed, from the tree, the only thing it takes with it, is hope.

Anybody out there have questions, comments, concerns?
Any wise interpretations?
I’m all ears!