A Daily Dose of Freedom

Lord, Close the door to my past. Hide me behind the cross. Teach me your ways. Seal my concealed wounds. Sharpen my discernment. Cancel my “woe is me” membership. Expunge my record of mistakes. Forgive my sins. Pardon my debt. Reconcile my faith. Wash me clean. Restore my hope. Give me wisdom. Breathe new life into me. In your Son Jesus name, I pray.  Amen.

Lord, untie the knots that keep me tied to “people pleasing.” Break the yokes that keep my soul obligated to say “yes,” when my heart silently screams, “no.” Destroy the bondage of traditional “soul ties” that keep me responsible for appeasing the unappreciative. Remove the chains that command my “immediate attention” when my allotted time isn’t sufficient to overwhelming demands. Cease the inner condemnation that says, what I have to offer “never amounts to enough.” Halt the enemies “intentional” destructive attacks of unrelenting oppression. End the consistent strides towards “unrealistic” perfection. Terminate the vicarious need to assume delegated roles that aren’t “divinely” assigned. Disrupt the critics complaints sent to “impede” my creative flow. Obstruct the “forces of opposition” that strive to convince me that self-care is selfish and service has no end.

 Hear my heart speak clearly with this one. My reluctancy to blog "consistently" hasn't come from a place of slothfulness or abandonment, but it's been an intense period of deep self-actualization. God forced me outside on the back porch with a shovel in hand to dig in the ditch. I had to pull up all the surrounding weeds by the root at my own pace. Most importantly, I had to let go of somethings that kept my feet stuck in the mud. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't impossible either! God, truly was the source of my strength in all of my weaknesses.  I needed to "feel" things that I was blatantly avoiding, without public scrutiny present. I needed to "step" back and take a closer look in the mirror without resentment, doubt and insecurities running laps around me.  I needed to "see" myself the way that God sees me and less of how (I felt) the world sees me.   I needed to "catch" my breath behind closed doors wi...

 She despises the spotlight but secretly aches in isolation. In her desperate furtive attempts of disguise, she disfigures her identity with the enemies’ lies. She gasps for a smidgen of breath as she hesitates to set her bed of memories ablaze. In her pirated moments of intentional quietness, she daydreams of God’s promises for a pain free tomorrow. She comes from a robust lineage of matriarchal warriors. “Survival of the fittest,” her soul’s familiar mantra. In her confined anguish and outward rebellion, God abruptly sends a word of comfort and meticulously closes her visible wounds to a microscopic afterthought. Now, when she speaks of the former imprisoned chains, it’s a daily testament of how God’s grace and mercy sets the wounded captives free.

His repeated petition for love caught my heart by utter surprise. His mysterious heart remained incarcerated by lust and a trajectory of deceitful lies. His artificial love magically strolled confidently on the scene, whenever He became angry with Cupid for a misguided conquest or Aphrodite’s misconstrued beauty that went unmet. Mama forced him to spend his earlier years, camped out on cracked, wooden pews, internalizing foreign messages about a God that He never really knew. Now that his manhood gradually exceeded puberty and his heart beat for love infatuation, there was no solid foundation to withstand- no trace of genuine relation. He failed to wait patiently and seek guidance from “The Great I Am,” Alpha and Omega. His “love fallacy” was nothing more than a teenage embellishment of  superficial procreation. Searching for love but lost in the mix of modern-day cohabitation. His love suffered many premature deaths. He knew nothing of genuine relationship, he ...

My mind sailed freely into “writers overload,” watching the movie, Black Panther. It was a true depiction of my grieving heart. I secretly longed for “Wakanda” to be my permanent residence. They say, “you can’t miss what you’ve never had,” but I strongly disagree! You’ll “fight” your whole life, trying to get “there!” I guess, I’m subconsciously fighting to get to Wakanda, a place that doesn’t exist. (Talk about unrealistic expectations; huh?) My complicated brain houses 70% of elaborate missionary goals of future international travel plans and 30% is the critic screaming within, “It’s not possible!” I intentionally suit up daily to fight against these dark principalities that come to steal my joy and invade my dreams. I fight hard to silence the small, intimidating voice that says, “a little country girl from the rural, unheard of area of Nash County can’t possibly make any major moves, outside of local territory.” Then there is the child of God that fights to overpower that linger...

Don’t “speak” to the woman that you physically see. “Speak” to the Queen arising from the dust that is spiritually free. “Speak” to the  undeveloped potential, the starving dreams, the hidden talent. “Speak” to the “Mother” of our future generation with grace and dignity. “Speak” life into her barren womb. “Speak” peace before she’s gone too soon. “Speak” love without profit or gain. “Speak” healing and she’ll never be the same.

I decided to take a “mental health hiatus” from blogging to disrupt all the emotional background noise that was on constant repeat. There was a sensitive situation going on behind closed doors that was claiming my tears in the midnight hour but forced me out of bed with a smile during the day. It was too big for my britches, so I didn’t even dabble with it at all. There was no need to pull out the ill-fitting mask. There was no need for me to entertain the “what if scenarios.” In fact, there wasn’t even a need for me to touch it. It was way too big for my hands. I gave it to God and left it there, without looking back or allowing it to consume me. During the meantime, I filled my time with different activities that claimed my undivided attention. I falsely assumed that I needed several outlets to drown out the hidden pain. I didn’t want to stop and grieve. I was secretly hurting but refused to allow myself to feel anything. My plan was to ignore the pain until it subsided, but that was...