Moving Forward Into Freedom

I told myself I would sit down and write. I've had an influx of thoughts lately on various topics, but haven't been able to piece them together. Sometimes, freewriting is the best I can do.

Well.

*sigh*

I told myself I'd better go for a walk, clear my head that way, since freewriting was clearly not getting me anywhere. It's great therapy, and isn't autumn one of the most perfect times to go for a walk?

I came across a certain mark in the pavement. An arrow. Moving forward, it tells me. This whole year has been a process of moving forward.

The other day, a friend said to me, "You move forward and adjust, move forward and adjust, move forward and adjust." And that's the reality of moving forward. We're just not going to get it right every time, but every time, we hopefully get it right a little more.

Moving forward is not the same as moving on; it means pressing in, and it requires much more of you—more seeking, more trusting, more readjusting. It means you've got a spot on the horizon that you're moving towards. It can't be hurried. It's a process, but you've got to be intentional about doing the work.

Fair warning about this work:
Moving forward might mean fits and starts, and even fits of ugly. And I think that's okay. You learn that way, gaining strength in the struggle, and, with your knees knocking, you stand back up and keep going. Eventually you learn to uncurl your fists and you learn that your heart of stone can return to a heart of flesh. That is a day of great victory.

I think there are spaces between seasons. I wrote of my season of rest earlier this year, but even my season of rest has taken slight twists as the natural seasons turn around my little cottage in Tennessee. I wonder if I'll remember this year more as a liminal phase, carrying me from one place into another. Months ago, November looked quite different in my head than how November is shaping up. And I'm thankful for that, because November is looking more and more like moving forward into freedom. Freedom, after all, is the sole work—and soul work—of the Cross.

Even after all that I've done to be intentional about healing and wholeheartedness, there are still those bits that could not be redeemed if not for Christ. Every bit of me that crumbled one year ago has faced and found deliverance through every obstacle, every hindrance, every misunderstanding, and every false accusation, each with their own voice trying to silence mine. HE builds my armor. Every broken bit of me that remains finds loving reception in arms that absolutely treasure me. HE turns heartache into hope.
               
I am His workmanship. I am HIS.

And this is the best part: The reality of being His is that as I move forward trusting in His strength and not my own, He is faithful to make the rough places smooth. Even my fits. This is grace.

And this is freedom: that wherever I go, the One who loves me is there. For "...wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom" (2 Corinthians 3:17 NIV).

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
Psalm 139:8-10 NIV

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
Galatians 5:1 NIV

I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean... I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you...

Ezekiel 36:25-27 NIV