Scarlet

This is a piece I wrote during Writing Camp last week. The prompt was to write anything that came to mind based on the name of a random crayon that you picked out of a pile of crayons, and the name of the crayon had to be the title of whatever you wrote.

"Scarlet"

Sometimes I feel like I live in a world where everything is black and white except for my sins: they are scarlet. Everyone can see them, people’s attention is drawn to them, because they are so stark and obvious. I imagine the black and white world is staring, wide eyed, amazed at my inability to conceal the blood-red disease that is my nature. The rest of the world must disdain me for my imperfections. Why can’t sin be beige or something less garish, less in-your-face, less loud, more subtle and able to slip by unnoticed?

The truth is, it’s my perceptions that are off. The world is not black and white. We are all scarlet, crimson with guilt. I don’t stand out because of my sin. If anything, it lets me blend in.

But there is something else scarlet that changes this picture. The blood of my Savior, Jesus Christ, that was spilled on the ground as He hung on a tree. He poured out His scarlet to set his crimson world free. It’s only through His shade of red that I have a chance to let mine fade, not just fade but be utterly erased, wiped from the memory of the eternal God, thanks to His eternal love for me, a small part of His Bride to be. A Bride whose only tinge of scarlet will be the glow in her cheeks as she glimpses her Groom, the King of Kings, who has made her clean and clothed her in white from the inside out.