The Struggle is Over

"Truly I tell you, if anyone says to the mountain, Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and does not doubt in their heart but believes that what they say will happen, it will be done for them.”                                                                                                           —Mark 11:23

After weathering a decade or more of brutal, harsh storms, "survival" became my safe haven. Although my heart barely remained intact after several disappointments, my gray hair and wrinkles proved that I wasn't a "spring chicken," (my grandmother's words) any longer. I falsely assumed my season for "real happiness" longed expired with failed relationships, so I would quietly "endure" until God called me home.

"Existing" became my armor. It was my homemade remedy that didn't require much effort. It was a desperate attempt to blend in with the crowd. It was my unique way of putting a band aid on a gunshot wound. I mean back then a hospital visit wasn't a viable option. I was somewhere sandwiched in between non existent healthcare plans. Isn't that how people dress up being unemployed? I assume, I'm being politically correct! I guess, I wasn't pitiful enough in the eyes of the State of NC to qualify for Medicaid, but not wealthy enough to pay the monthly premiums for the affordable health care act insurance. Prayer would have to sustain me through long winters of flu season and I had to be extremely careful to avoid any type of emergencies. 

No worries, I was a self-taught professional "seamstress" (in my mind). I watched grandma make a dollar out of fifteen cents my entire life. This couldn't be much different than hemming pants. The struggle was in my bloodline. I assumed it to be an inheritance. This was way of life. I was living proof that generational curses "took root" before my feet touched the ground. No one ever mentioned Jesus fed the multitudes with five loaves of bread and two fish. I didn't quite grasp the concept as Jesus being the provider, I thought grandma was. In fact, I didn't fully realize that I came from the bloodline of Jesus. I unknowingly forfeited my rightful inheritance without knowing. No wonder I built my "temple" from the remnants of left over scraps. Anything that fell from the table was mine to claim. I sat right there and waited.

The struggle was real for so long that I became the struggle! The needs overflowed but the coins were few. I overheard people say that America was built on the blood, sweat and tears of others, so who was I to assume there was a better way? I woke up before dawn plenty of mornings, hearing Grandma sobbing to Jesus, but I lacked that same type of intimacy with him. My relationship with him rested in her fervent prayers. She was the glue that kept our family afloat and my lifeline to Jesus.

When the struggle got bigger than my hands could rightfully hold, I mocked Ma's (my grandma's) actions. I got on my knees and sobbed too. Surely, she told him all about me, so I wasn't a complete stranger. At this time, I lacked the knowledge of Jeremiah 1:5, "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations."

 I learned to sneak in Ma's old, top dresser drawer. I carefully grabbed the white prayer cloth and bottle of oil on the bedside table to anoint my own head, just like she did, if any one of us got sick. The devil wasn't about to run me! I wasn't a stranger to warfare. I was born from the struggle.  I heard my mom repeatedly say how she labored for fourteen hours bringing me into this world. Indeed, I was no wimp!

I mimicked Ma's actions. I prayed what I overheard her say, "no weapon formed against me shall prosper." I sat in that closet yelling, crying and screamed myself "happy," like they did at church. I secretly wanted the Holy Ghost too, but I wasn't about to fall out on the floor looking for him.  I mean, if I bumped my head and fell unconscious who would find me in the closet. I was scared that I wouldn't get up, so I just shouted myself "happily to sleep". Surely, God would understand that my strength hadn't grown like Ma's yet. All that hollering made me tired!

Years later, I looked around my first property,  a renovated house full of things. I customized everything to my preference, but it still never felt like home. I felt like an abandoned vessel, longing for the unfamiliar. I spent hours in Lowe's choosing paint schemes, learning how to install recess lightning, researching contractors. I replaced the roof, & HVAC system, had vinyl siding installed, had carpets removed and wood floors installed. It still didn't fill the void. I was looking in all the wrong places. I thought I needed something tangible to occupy the space in my heart. When the home no longer filled that space, I started to fill the driveway with vehicles. After a few months, the newness of that wore off too. Seems like I traded cars every six months looking for a new thrill! I needed a fresh wind because mine was filled with the stench of despair. My smile collapsed. I had everything--the American dream came true, but I felt nothing. Mark 8:36 clearly tells us, "What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?" This AMERICAN dream no longer belonged to me. It wasn't an inheritance, but a curse that accompanied a lot of pain. My soul was indeed empty!

I was pretty good at pretending. I smiled (with my whole face), while secretly hiding. Suffering in silence became the normal. It came with a complementary mask. I became a camouflage expert and perfected the pageant wave. Few took notice. The "struggle" took ownership of my dwelling without hesitation. I bowed out gracefully, without resistance. I accumulated enough scrapes and bruises as evidence of my battles. My knees were a pitch black reminded of past failures. Humph, I wore the "struggle" like a badge of honor. It became my best accomplishment-surviving!

Call it divine intervention or whatever you may, but I became fed up. It was either the devil or me. We could no longer happily coincide in the same residence. I grew faint and weary against his attacks. I stopped whispering to God, while the enemy took authority over my circumstances. I grew tired, so I allowed God to fight. I remembered crying out when I was younger, so I went into my red closet/office space and hollered like I lost my mind. I wasn't about to cave under the enemies continued attacks.

I got that sword (the word) and God led.

I fasted.

I prayed.

I shed layers of fleshly coverings.

I died in the natural and was reborn in the spiritual.

What I did next seemed foolish to man, but made perfect sense to God. I fled Egypt. I never looked back. The chains abruptly fell to the ground of fresh soil. The giants disappeared. The strongholds were released.

Then God softly whispered, " THE STRUGGLE IS OVER!"

Dance, rejoice & be FREE.

"So if the Son sets your fee, you will be free indeed." -John 8:36