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Emotional Hoader


My relationship with God has been somewhat peculiar to say the least. Trying to make sense of life's "mayhem" apart from him can leave you discombobulated and blue in the face. Gasping for air in the cracks of uncertainty, I found myself reaching for answers in the surrounding toxic air.

For over two decades, anytime exhaustion settled in, I found myself on the couch curled up in the fetal position with a white blanket. My attempts to swaddle myself and suffocate the pain from my heart’s memory bank were always unsuccessful. My morning routine of affirmations landed on deaf ears.

God’s armor felt too big for my britches. I subconsciously blamed my childhood family dynamics for not being prepared to stand unmoved in the fight. There wasn’t anyone available to lead; therefore, I skipped basic training. The sword felt bigger than my hands could rightfully hold. The enemy poked holes in my helmet, so I experienced headshots during attacks. I kept walking out of my ill-fitting, secondhand shoes. We couldn’t afford a belt, so I made do with rigged up safety pins. My breastplate was nothing more than a recycled, remnant of fabric materials. My shield was an old piece of plywood that was missing from the old wooden floor of my grandma’s sitting room.

I was ashamed that my foundation required patching up. The visible wear and tear required regular maintenance. The leaking roof sent the five-gallon buckets into a constant flood of tears at the threat of inclement weather. The awnings shook forcefully with high winds. My dwelling was an eye sore in direct violation of God’s word. His promises were filtered through unreliable past experiences, brought to life each day that I refused to let go. Trauma, loss and pain that I couldn’t depart with. It was my home of familiarity in the unknown of darkness.

As I stood in the back yard and my eyes scanned the debris, I realized I made a home out of the left overs. I had stuffed, piled, and stored outdated things that no longer fit. I was an emotional hoarder. I made use of things that others discarded. I found value in restoration. I found security in physical abundance. It was my distorted escape from the poverty mindset of lack! It was the reason my drawers, closets and shelves remained packed beyond capacity. It was traditional dysfunction recycling unhealed wounds.

Spiritual warfare can manifest over the years by keeping you attached to an umbilical cord of demonic oppression. Know when it’s time to cut the cord. My Pastor said in service on yesterday, “You can’t give away what you refuse to conquer.”

Today, I’m “intentionally” giving away everything that no longer serves me. I’m packing up fear, doubt, defeat, anxiety, worry, shame, guilt and returning it to the pit of darkness from which it came.

Search your space for anything that needs to be replaced, repaired or rebuilt.

Toss those things that doesn’t bring you peace, joy and LOVE.










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