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

Flying Kites & A Message on Delight

His love for me is serious.  He had looked me in the eyes and said, "This pain I've endured... This waiting for you.... This love... It was all worth it."

He met me again on my beach, and, having said this only a few days before, pulled out two kites.  His grin was invitation enough.

I suddenly remembered that there was a small course of time when I was a little girl, during which I was fascinated by kites with all their shapes, and colors, and tails, and their mystery of flight.  I remembered waking to windy days, wishing as only a child does for a kite of my very own.  Perhaps it was Mary Poppins that sparked my wonder and delight.  It feels like a long forgotten joy now, or one that I thought I needed to outgrow.

His capable hands carried our kites down to the water's edge; I say capable because anything that can hold this fragile, messy, passionate heart is surely strong enough to hold an object even the wild wind could carry away.  He is mighty to hold my heart whether it's in pieces or pumping with life.  I followed closely behind.

Another memory took me back to a day when I was probably 7 or 8 years old, running around my grandparents' backyard with a plastic kite I was the luckiest girl to come by.  I'd get my little legs to going, and it'd fly up in the air for a few seconds at a time.  After a few failed attempts and several successful runs, I met the disaster of all disasters for a hopeful kid like me: my kite lodged momentarily in the trees and ripped down the middle.  Heartbreak fell to the ground.  My parents assured me that we could get me a new one, but for that day it was over.

The salt air brought me back to the present.  He handed me a perfectly crafted kite, made of red and pink canvas and strong birch spines running cross-wise in the shape of a diamond.  The wind picked up and so did our mutual laughter.  With nothing but air above—no trees to snag—our kites lifted as we kicked up the sand beneath our feet.  I said, "I forgot how this feels, to play like this, to play with you... to delight in this."

"I always delight in you."

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the universe.  This love spoke to my worth.  Then this love spoke courage.

He looked at me again with those compassionate eyes.  He said to me, "My Love, spread out your arms and all I have to do is breathe.  You'll take off.  You'll rise like this kite, tethered to Me.  I've got you."

And I knew that it was true.

"He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me."   Psalm 18:19 HCSB

"Yahweh your God is among you, a warrior who saves.  He will rejoice over you with gladness.  He will bring you quietness with His love.  He will delight in you with shouts of joy."  Zephaniah 3:17 HCSB

"How beautiful you are and how pleasing, O love, with your delights!" Song of Songs 7:6 NIV

Photo by: Nicolai Duerbaum

The Rest in the Rise

"It's a season of rest," Katelin said to me over brunch. "Yeah," I replied, "It really feels like it is."

I had just gone on about my new place and the way the Lord has worked in my life and heart recently.

In January, I decided to try what many call their #OneWord for the year. This is the word that I carry with me, to inspire me and remind me, to be resolute about. The word I chose for 2016 is...

RISE.

A little bit of back story: I faced my darkest hour during the last half of 2015. On July 17th, a few of the words I noted to describe how I felt at the time were these:

hurt
defeated
inadequate
angry

The months following were a roller coaster of betrayal, resentment, anger, compassion, forgiveness, love, celebration, desire, hurt, confusion, more love, more hurt, more forgiveness, and still more confusion.

In November, speaking with a friend over the phone, I finally sobbed the words aloud: "I just feel so broken."

Yet healing slowly, slowly began to take place in my heart. And those words listed above were not words I wanted to carry with me into the new year.

So, this became my mantra:

"There is no force more powerful than a woman determined to rise."
-unknown

I had fallen, and hard.

I got back up. I faced my fears;

Up, and down. Up, and down.

January hit, and I was determined to rise.

And then a surprising thing happened:

A season of rest.

"The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." Exodus 14:14 NIV

I had been fighting so hard for my worth, for my place, to simply stay intact. And though I'm finally coming out on the other side, I still face the triggers and the fears every day. Some days I think I'm the bravest of them all, for every day I get out there and strengthen my courage muscles. But I'm not doing it alone.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28-30 NIV

I'm newly blessed with a peaceful little cottage outside of town. A place I can call my own for twelve months. A gathering place (for my soul as much as anything else). A house within whose walls I've committed LOVE, JOY, and PEACE. An intentional, designed life.

“In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength.” Isaiah 30:15 NIV

So I've discovered that there is rest in the rise. 

As the earth gathers herself at night to prepare for each coming day, 

And as the Lord Himself left Earth for three whole days, 

In waiting, and trust, and rest-

It is truly the only way.

"Yet those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles..." Isaiah 40:31 NASB