freedom

Banyan

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Banyan

 

There’s a grace that digs deep

Core of strength extends lofty to the sky

Outward, stretched, fallen man reaching for a savior

Redeemed and strong his boughs grow

Boldly lifted to heights he never dreamed

He searches for more

Always reaching

Always hoping

Faith finding him ransomed

Free he soars with the heavens

From the heights he reaches down

Lowering his fingers to the earth beneath

Digging in deeper

Delving anxiously to accomplish his task

Expanding his reach, as he bores into areas still covered by turf

Grace that reaches for more

Grace that reaches for others

Grace that overcomes all

Dig deeply in me until nothing remains untouched

Behind the Broken Glass

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Crack in the window

I’m standing in a room alone. It’s dark, foggy, shadowy and gray. Before me, a mirror stands singularly. It’s the centerpiece of the room. It’s as if my presence there is more triviality than importance. Everything revolves around this monument of reflective glass. It haunts me.

Though it has no voice, I can almost hear it calling me into its solitary world. The room begins to spin. I hear jeers and laughter. Whispers from the past combine into dissonant noise that surrounds me, spinning, spiraling with noxious intent. They wrap me up and I find myself face to face with this fragile monster and I allow myself to look deeply.

The image before me is clear at first, just plain ol’ me with my pale, freckled skin, sharp features, ordinary hair, small, uneventful eyes, thin lips. As I stare, the image begins to change before me. From my perspective, it’s as if it’s zooming in and becoming clearer. It feels as though I’m really seeing myself for the first time. Every line, dimple and extra pound expands. I never realized how much weight I’d really accumulated with my last pregnancy. I’d never realized how pallid and sallow looking my skin had become. My long, natural hair used to be beautiful and flowing. I always thought it was lovely. Now it looks stringy, unkempt and dull. I feel as if there should be a law about letting oneself look like this. What have I allowed myself to become?  Corners

From the other side, I see this whole scene unfold. Suddenly, I’m an outside observer watching the event as if it were a movie playing in 3D. I still feel everything but reality is with me and I am aware.

As she stands before the mirror the glass shifts and shakes, contorting slowly, imperceptibly to her. Cracks and jagged, broken edges jut out in various places causing her reflection to look more like something she might see in a fun house mirror than true form.

I’m standing behind the broken glass watching her weary face, hearing her thoughts as she contemplates her new diet and exercise program (which will start TOMORROW). I feel her shame. She wants to hide, to blend in with the crowd just outside this room and pray they don’t see her at all. If she can avoid being seen until she fixes everything wrong with her, maybe she’ll be okay. Maybe the monster will release her from this prison. But some things she can’t change. What then?

From behind the broken glass, I see her. I see who she really is. She is beautiful. I see her dignity, her faith, her strength, the sparkle in her eye, the grace in her smile. She is so much more than the lies the mirror keeps telling her.

WindowI reach through the glass with both hands wide. I call to her. I take her hand and help her through to the other side.

Suddenly, the room is clear. The fog and gray are now light and clarity. I open my eyes, whole. I am home. I can still feel the glass like a distant presence. I know it’s there. I know it will fight to pull me in again but I am no longer afraid. I know now it’s broken. It has no hold on me.

Now I will look for it. When I see it appear, maybe I can have the opportunity to reach through and help another captured soul through to the other side. Behind the broken glass there is a world of freedom.

Forgiveness

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Gripping my heart, the things I thought I’d let go, fingers flexed to squeeze out tears and the strangest of fears. I thought I’d forgiven. I guess there’s still work to be done.

I had a strange dream a few weeks ago about someone I haven’t thought about in years. This person happened to be on the short list of two individuals I can think of in my life that I had the hardest time forgiving. I don’t really know what brought about this reminiscence but just before I woke up I heard the Lord speaking to my heart that we were going back until I’d dealt with it once and for all.  I really didn’t think I had any issue with this person whatsoever anymore.

Now the other one on the short list, I can acknowledge, still haunts me from time to time. There are days when, though I’ve forgiven repeatedly, the disgust and anger find a way of coming up and sitting in the back of my throat like bile. My husband is so great at catching these moments and reminding me to get it under control. I’m so thankful for him.

This week, I realized how much more work I need to do in this area. There’s a difference between shoving the feelings aside and dealing with them until they’ve been fully uprooted from the soil of the soul. Maybe true forgiveness is a process in which God is faithful enough to remind us about the roots still clinging tightly at just the right moment when we are strong enough to tug them out. Maybe He works on different sections of the garden of our heart because we can’t handle the pain if He did it all at once. I don’t know. I can only relate my experience and my shortcomings.

My ex-husband was a drug addict (I optimistically choose to use the word “was” there in hopes that he is in fact doing better though the bile of cynicism is attempting to creep up even now as I write). The entirety of our marriage was a roller coaster of issues between drug relapses, outbursts of wrath and malice toward me and our kids, pornography, prostitutes and strippers, finally leaving me no choice but divorce. I am so thankful that God protected me and my children through all of the chaos and that He’s brought us to where we are today. I believe that these experiences have served to make me stronger and prepared me for my life. As Corrie Ten Boom said, “This is what the past is for! Every experience God gives us, every person He puts in our lives is the perfect preparation for a future only He can see”. Still, there are memories, I’d love to forget.

My husband and I have been helping and counseling a family recently who are dealing with issues very similar to my old life and consequently, I am facing memories of the past that aren’t pleasant. In one situation this week, I found myself paralyzed after flashbacks of certain situations came flooding in. Then all of a sudden, with the anger and pain of the memories, a bizarre fear crept in that maybe someday my perfectly amazing husband, who has restored my faith in mankind, could somehow fall victim to some of these atrocious sins and I could end up right back where I came from dealing with the same issues over again.  In the brain, it makes no sense, but in the realm of the soul where my emotions are being sloshed together with pregnancy hormones it hit me like an avalanche and I realized that maybe I’m not as “over it” as I once thought I was. 

All of this, though painful and raw, causes me to be so thankful! In His infinite mercy, God is allowing me to see the areas that still need tending so now, I can move toward healing. Were it not for these moments, I’d still be pushing aside little annoyances and snide comments every time the ex’s name was mentioned. Were it not for moments like these, I’d be walking around with bitterness in my heart unable to move forward. Once light is shined in darkness, the dim is forced to yield to the brightness! That is so comforting to me. I can rest confidently knowing that God is faithful and just to complete the work He began in my heart long ago and bring me to a place of true freedom. When the tears and fears are squeezed to surface, his living water can come in and refresh my soul.

Thank you Lord for every ache, every pain and every tear as long as they draw me nearer to you!

 

White Washed Tombs

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I took a drive today to a place I once lived. Something once so familiar now screams of distance and abandon, of days long past and reminders of how far I’ve come.

Even the sky is dim framing the homes fallen to disrepair, forgotten or ignored by the “noble” ones; still occupied by dreamers or those who’ve given up, a little of both, who am I to say?

The middle of the street interrupted by medians that were created a few years ago by those seeking to rejuvenate or beautify the otherwise dismal. Live oaks and palm trees stand like proud pillars lending shade to the mass of flowers beneath. Anything to train the eye to ignore the reality and focus on the seemingly lovely.

Money spent to cover up instead of resolve. Funds allocated to appearance instead of wholeness and recovery. An attempt to buy hope for the broken instead of introducing the need to the one who IS hope, the answer, the truth.

Maybe that’s what we’ve become. White washed tombs who hide our need behind proud pillar smile and flowery words. Broken and bound within but perfumed and covered by manicured skin and rote responses, “I’m doing great! How are you?” “Blessed and highly favored” though the words lack sincerity and genuineness.

My heart breaks for the broken ones, the ones hidden behind showcases of beauty. Can we acknowledge the need and do something or do we drive by and focus on the flowers? Am I willing to allow my eyes to see? Am I broken for others and pouring out in prayer and kindness? Am I offering my hands and my heart or am I content with the covering?

Not just on the street among the drug bound and needy, but in the grocery store when I see someone who needs a smile and a word of encouragement. To the cashier whose day consisted of complaints and busy people. In the church where the people so often hide who they really are for fear of rejection (struggling with secret sin but too afraid to admit it and find healing)? Do I walk by and join the others, refusing to go deeper into the fray? Will I not be moved to compassion for another?

Am I a white washed tomb, who appears to have the answers but never provides a solution? Am I real? Do my words show the genuineness and compassion of a loving, infinite, savior and comforter who longs to mend the broken-hearted and restore the weak.

Lord, break my heart for what breaks yours. Here I am, send me.

Forgiveness

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Bound

Anyone who has been a Christian for any amount of time knows a thing or two about forgiveness. First, there’s the fact that we’ve been forgiven so much, a concept that still blows my mind when I think of some of the things I’ve done or worse yet, acknowledge the things my heart was capable of doing. Then at some point, we dig a little deeper and find the skeletons of long ago that still cause our hearts to grieve and/or our blood to boil to the point of seething and we slowly start letting go of them. We clean out the baggage that takes up much needed space in the closets of our hearts.

We find that forgiveness comes easy in some situations and much harder in others. I can vividly remember a particular situation that I went through where I found myself coming repeatedly to the Lord and crying out for help because I wanted to forgive and said I’d forgiven but I knew in my heart I wasn’t over it yet. Some wounds are deeper than others. I would leave my prayer closet thinking I had overcome only to find myself fuming and my stomach churning the next time someone mentioned the offender’s name.

The beauty of such a long hard battle is that when the victory comes, it somehow seems sweeter. My victory in this situation was actually subtle. After years of prayer and struggle, I ran into said person at a store one day. I say “ran into” but the truth is I walked by and noticed someone hiding behind a fruit display in the produce department. This person apparently spotted me first. That struck me as so funny that I figured I’d go be pleasant and eliminate the need of any future fruit cover up.

I was standing there in the produce department having a conversation with someone who hurt and abused me, someone who threatened the life of me and my daughter, someone who had held the weight of my wrath for so long, as if we were old friends catching up. I realized in that moment that it no longer hurt. I was no longer angry. I had obtained my freedom without really knowing it until confronted with it. There were no lightning bolts from heaven signifying the end of an era. I didn’t need to ‘hug it out’ or have any real sense of closure on the situation. It was simply done. Hidden and absorbed with the blood spilled to free me in an old cross, and purged by peace into life.

I’ve found myself being confronted with this passage of scripture several times recently,

 “Therefore if you bring your gift to the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you,leave your gift there before the altar, and go your way. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift.” Matthew 5:23-24

What people often overlook in these verses is that Jesus said if someone has something against you, not the other way around. Obviously, we know if we have something against someone else, we need to go make it right, but Jesus raises the standard. He doesn’t want us to allow strife at all. We are required to make an effort even when it’s someone else holding the offense against us. This, in my opinion, is a tough one.

I had a conversation the other day with someone who was adamantly refusing to make an effort to make peace with a person because they were convinced that was they said was right. My counsel to them was that it doesn’t matter if you are right, you don’t have to say you were wrong, but you are required to try to mend the relationship between you and your brother. God doesn’t tolerate strife, period.

We often allow our own pride and defensiveness drive our actions. I believe that though we never compromise on what we believe, we don’t always have to fight for ourselves. God will defend the righteous. That is His job. Our job, according to Micah 6:8 is this, “And what does the Lord require of you, But to do justly, To love mercy, And to walk humbly with your God?”

There are times when we will extend the olive branch of peace to another person and that person is not willing to accept it. I believe in those situations all we can do is pray for them and continue to walk in love toward them. God knows our hearts and will not hold the actions and attitudes of another against us. Please don’t take the effort to mend a relationship to an unhealthy extreme. I have seen people who become almost obsessed with trying to make someone forgive them or like them. You are only responsible for what you do. If someone else refuses to forgive, let it go. It’s between them and God.

When we choose not to forgive someone else we are binding that person to our hearts. I refuse to allow those who have wronged me to continue to have any effect on my life. I am determined to free myself of them and any chain they have in me. So I forgive quickly. When it’s hard I pray for them even through clinched teeth when necessary, until the chain is broken.

Forgiveness is one of the most freeing things we as mortals are given the pleasure of experiencing. I am so thankful for the forgiveness and grace extended to me by my Savior, Jesus Christ. I am so thankful for the people who love and bear with me daily as I make my way through this earthly existence. I am so thankful that I am given the opportunity to release the chains that bind my heart when I hold an offense against another person. We are blessed.

 

A Day Without Zombies

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I haven’t written much this week, which is unusual for me. I haven’t been able to. It’s not the ideas or inspirations haven’t come. It’s not that the words haven’t rolled through my brain singing “Crazy Train” while plummeting frantically to the caverns of lost thought below. It’s really been a joint effort between life and confusion, each one vying for my time, sucking at my mind with their imbibing tentacles. They long for me. They long to steal away the moments of vision and clarity as they once did. I’m not easily shaken. Not anymore.

This week I’ve realized how truly blessed I’ve become. That seems a strange thought in the midst of the situation that presented itself which I cannot share with you, but trust me, it was a doozy! I realized that I’ve come to a place where problems (real problems) are rare. That is such a miracle since I once lived a life in which problems (real mind blowing, “how much more can I possibly take” problems) were the norm.

Then you sink to uncomfortable numb. Feelings stop so survival can take over. Your heart beats, you breathe but laboriously in an effort to dim the panic. Breathe in, breathe out. Hide the heart another day until maybe it just disappears. Who needs emotion anyway? My place in life is among the zombies, walking dead with no heart (excerpt from poem called Zombie I wrote in 2009)

Now those days have passed and I am alive. No longer the zombie I wrote about in old poems. I am fully awake. I am free.

So this week, though life hit hard, I find myself thankful. I’m not thankful for the circumstances. I’m not thankful for the pain. But I’m thankful that I’ve entered the realm of the living. I’m thankful that I merely have a problem instead of my entire life being fraught with a myriad of problems. I’m thankful that I am confident in the God whose brought me through so much before and will bring my family through this situation with good in store. I’m thankful that no weapon formed against me or my family can ever prosper or succeed. My confidence is in a BIG God.

I’m grateful for the promise of tomorrow, a future and a hope. I’ve always believed and held tightly to that promise. But now, I’m thankful for the promise of TODAY…knowing that God is with me. The creator of the universe holds my hand and loves me deeply, passionately, and furiously. I am overwhelmed by the wonder of it. I am captured by the enormity of its effects. It leaves me breathless. 

Today I am fully alive.