I fell down with that last entry.
Fell hard. Right into a bush of sharp thorns.
Seemingly side swiped, and when I hit the ground, the thorns digging in, I was ignorantly surprised.
After the post was published, and I lay there, twisting in that awful bush, I was angry. Scared.
It hurt. A lot.
Each thorn, tearing at my flesh, exposing my wounds with pain and blood. Vulnerable and raw. Shameful and filled with heavy burden. I did not feel the release once it was out in the world, actually, the exact opposite. I felt chained down and held back by it. Jailed and accused. Held captive in this place. The darkness surrounding me, very real and tangible in so many ways. A cloud of guilt covered my eyes, and for a time, I could not escape it. I could not see. So, I fought with that damn bush. Twisting and screaming. Flailing around in the dark, like a toddler having a fit. Tearing at it and accusing it. I was embarrassed. Ego filled and prideful. How could I have fallen in this trap? Wasn’t I wise on my journey? wasn’t I being strong?
So the fight continued. Blind and useless. Every time I’d rage fully rip out a thorn, it would only come back to bleed me out further. I couldn’t sleep and when I did, I’d wake every hour. Haunted and weak. When I’d cry out to The Father, I would hear nothing. These soul cries and frustration, left inside of me. Coming to God in self pity and prideful arrogance. Get me out Father, that’s your duty. Why would you request this of me, to write this story, and leave me in this bush. You said you’d be there. These words only twisting the thorns deeper. So here is where I sat. Crying, shameful and frightened. A few times, I even considered ending this whole thing. The pain was too great.
Until this happened.
I got so wrapped up in the thorns, I had to be still. The more I’d move, the more tangled I’d become. The more I thought about it, tried to think my way out of it, the deeper they dug. So, in all that suffering, I had no choice, but, to go back to the beginning. In the beginning, the first thing The Father said to me was, quiet. Be still, be willing to be still, and then I will come to you in your meekness.
In my pain, I was far from humble. My peace had been disturbed, and I blamed the Lord for not warning me. In truth. HE DID. Many times. He had warned me not to go to fast, to wait on Him, and I had chosen, not to listen. I had chosen, to press on, and not heed His loving guidance. I was impatient, as I usually am, when I’m running on my own brain power, and not checking in with my Father. Not waiting on The Spirit. I had allowed this whole scene to become a give and take with my readers, and had left behind the give and take with God. It’s not like one morning I woke up and said, hey, I’m going to write my memoirs. NO. God said that, the courage and journey of this has always come from God. I can take no ownership of any of this. ANY OF IT. I write well, because it’s a gift God blessed me with. I am a part taker in this story, because it’s a gift God blessed me with. It may not seem like a gift at times, but IT IS. The plain truth of it is this, I am nothing but dust and powerless intellect without The Father. Nothing I do in my life will be successful by His terms, without Him. In honesty, I want nothing to do with this unless it’s driven by God. Period.
This was the humbleness The Father spoke of. When I saw this, again, I fell to my knees in love. Confessing the ego trip to Him, confessing my impatience, and asking His forgiveness for, again, trying to do things my way. It wasn’t a shame thing, there was no guilt.I didn’t say, sorry I was a bad girl, take me out of the bush. It was just simply this, You love me SO MUCH, you want things right and whole and full for me. That’s it. So here, TAKE IT. It’s not even mine. I could pervert this entire story, publish it and make mad stacks. But where’s the faith in that? where’s the fruit? where’s the impact, if there’s no grace. No humility. No honesty. No God. NO RAW AND REAL TRUTH, about my journey with Jesus Christ.
It was in that moment, that he lifted from the bush of thorns. Healed each wound, and held me. Set me upright, and brushed me off. Lifted the darkness from my eyes, and showed me, that yes, He was well pleased with this. Showed me, He had to leave me in the bush, by my own free will, and that only in humility and faith, could I be relieved from my suffering. All He was waiting for, was the space to work in me. I wouldn’t give it up to Him in my protesting and anger. In my pain. I had to let go first. I had to let go of the one thing most dear to us, to ME… pride.
Breathe, cry, and let go.
I wanted you all to know this, because without it I’d be lying. I’d be ashamed to share this part of the journey, and from the first post, I made it clear. I would not be ashamed of our all powerful and all loving Father. Thank you Father, for loving and honouring me enough to let me suffer, even when it hurts you more than it hurts me, because without this suffering, without the fear, this would just be another paperback bullshit novel about the road to self. Screw that, this is my ROAD TO YOU.
Thank you for always meeting me in the middle..thank you for being tangible in my life. Thank you for being so lovingly gentle when you walk through my camp…and delivering my enemies to me. Even when the enemy is myself. Words fail to express all things in my heart. You are EVERYTHING, and I want to give EVERYTHING I HAVE, TO YOU.