Finding Freedom

Aha.
So that is what imprisons you...
what holds you inside
caged within
unable to escape
unable to move on
held in place by these hard places of the heart
Hard places.
Prison cells.
A place we cannot move beyond.
Not until we are able to unlock these bonds that bind us
and it is in our hands
if only we can realize the key we hold
too stubborn
unwilling to let go of these old hurts
we hang onto them as though they're golden handcuffs
bracelets of beauty
wear them with pride
... or maybe
they're all too familiar to let them go.
Like a wedding ring.
Once it has been in place a while, taking it off leaves the finger feeling naked.
Exposed.
Unprotected.
Is this protection then?
These shackles of unforgiveness?
We harden our hearts a little more
wear our bonds, like armor on our sleeves
fettered feet and hands
until at long last
we're no longer longing to be free
but content to sit in place, restrained,
confined
manacled to the walls
we are in place, not moving about
we feel safe here.
Here, nobody can hurt us.
No one can find us
we hole ourselves up inside our little burrow in the wall
akin to the other cell mates, we relate our bitterness
clattering our chains
counting each link in remembrance of pain
and lament the way we were before our freedom escaped us
If only they hadn't done this or that.
If only, if only.
And yet the keys dangle from our hands
and we see them not
blind
ignorant
unable to move beyond the past and into the future.
I listen to the birds outside my cell window
beyond these bars, they sing.
they fly.
they haven't a care in the world
no grudges to hold
no bitterness to bear
FREE.
I pause and listen to their song

use the key
to be free
you will fly
just like me

find the key
at your wrist
give the lock
one more twist

golden key
hanging there
free yourself
lose your care

thank the one
made the key
he has freed
you and me

let it go
just forgive
do it now
and you'll live

prison doors
won't hold fast
letting go
of the past

keep it not
set it free
your release
you will see

beyond the bars
freedom lingers
try the key
at your fingers



Forgiveness?
Forgiveness...
It was never mine to keep anyway.
Never mine to try and hoard
or keep locked up away from anyone.
Not even those who have hurt me most
It's not mine to say who it belongs to.
It belonged to Him first.

And the really sad and tragic thing here...
is that many who have hurt so much
don't even know they've done it
No idea.
Free conscience.
Not a clue they've done anything wrong at all.
And here I've sat
angry
hurting
brooding
unable to get past the hurt
while they glided along day to day
blissfully unaware
laughing
carrying on
not a care in the world

Who, then, has been hurt by my unforgiveness?
Them?
No.
Me.


I sigh.
Sit on the ground.
Take the key in hand.
Place it in the lock.
Give it a turn.

A turning in my mind.
A turning over of my heart.
A deliberate turning off of my emotional attachment.
The turning over of my own control of this situation to the Eternal Judge.
Out of my own hands, into His.
And with a turn and a click, the heavy metal pieces fall to the floor.
Clanging loudly against the concrete floor.
Heads turn at the sound.
Eyes stare in wonder.

"What are you doing?"
"Leaving."
"How?"
"I've unlocked these things. Use that little key. Just forgive them."
"What?! I can't. It's impossible. You don't know what they've done to me."
"No, I don't know what they did to you. But, do you want out of here?"
"Well, yeah. Of course I do."
"Then let it go. I mean really, really... let it go. You've got to get past that to find the key."
"You're crazy. You are just crazy. It won't work. I'll just be miserable, and they'll get away with it."
"No, you won't. You won't be miserable anymore. And they won't get away with it. Not if you let it go."
"What? How is my forgiving them going to fix things?"
"Because then whatever they've done can't hurt you anymore."
"It still hurts. It hurts me right now."
"Yeah, I know. But it won't get better sitting in here. This place never helps anyone. People come here to die."
"I...uh... I don't want to die here."
"Trust me then. Let go."
"I just can't."
"Look. Look where you are. Inside this cell. This prison. This open sewer. It stinks. It's miserable. Covered with slime and filth. It's not nice in here. You're in hell in this cesspool. Don't you want to get out? Don't you want to walk out of these doors? To be outside again? Wouldn't you like to breathe in some air that didn't smell like a urinal? To feel the wind blowing on your face? To walk in the grass and under the trees and look up into the wide open sky, just staring forever at the clouds and the birds and the sun? And when is the last time you looked at the stars? I mean more than outside that pitiful little crevice they call a window? Don't you want to LIVE? Don't you want to be FREE?!!"
Tears fall. Shoulders shake with silent sobbing anguish.
Desperation and shame trickle down soiled faces.
"Yes. We want to live. We want to be free."
"Then stop being unforgiving. Open up your heart. Let it go."
"But we don't know how. This is all we know. It's all we've got. We don't have anything else to hold on to."
I smile.
"Come to the window. Listen to the birds. Can you hear the words they're singing?"
We stand for a long time.
Listening to the birds and their song.
Then, one at a time, each face lights up.
Each one looks down at their hands and can see the key hanging there.
Surprised, they glance at me, holding the golden key in hand.
I smile. Go ahead.
Turning of the locks. Clanking of the chains.
The prison is noisy with the clattering of metal on concrete.
We stand a moment, rubbing our wrists and ankles.
We squeeze hands and exchange hugs, each person to the other.
Tears of joy.
Hearts and hands trembling in anticipation.
And then, hands clasped together, hearts racing, we walk out.
A chain of people, letting go, holding nothing but one another's hand in our own hands.
No more chains.
No more shackles.
No handcuffs or manacles.
No bonds.
Nothing but freedom holding freedom.
And we get just outside the door, and break into a run.
Sweeping past the prison yard.
Racing over the hills.
Flying down the roads.
Dashing underneath the trees.
Spilling out into the wide open prairie
Clear blue skies overhead
And we stop then and stare up into the sky that stretches on forever
where we dance and twirl around like little kids
and smile like crazy
because we're free.

Letting go never tasted so sweet.

It's Good To Be Alive!

Today I am getting back to walking.
And it feels like BLISS!
I have awakened.
No more going back to sleep.
No more blaming others.
No more regrets and beating myself up for past mistakes.
No more being unforgiving to those who have hurt me in the past.
What's done is done, there is no going back.
Every day I am more awake and aware.
I am finding that I'm worth fighting for.
I'm finding that I must go after what I need because nobody is going to bring it to me or see what I need.
It's up to me.
Thank God He woke me up and made me aware of this life He's given me.
It is a waste to live my life just going through the motions.
Life is about making mindful decisions.
It is about not just going with the flow.
I must fight for what I want.
I must change what needs changing.
I cannot be hurt if I don't allow it.
Even when people mean to hurt me, if I don't take it how they mean it, and don't let if affect me, I cannot be hurt.
Oh sure, they can beat me and kick me and even kill me...
But the personal stuff like attitudes and gossip and laughing at me making me feel depressed and sad...
it's my mind and I don't have to allow it to change my emotions.
I am able to determine what I let get to me and what I don't allow.
It's all in my mind.
If I am still alive, it's a good day.
Every day is from God, and everything from God is good.
It's all in our perspective.
And oh, it is GREAT to be ALIVE!!!
=)

My Thankful Story

Every year, about this same time, when the winds begin to blow in the change from summer's holiday to the next season, I am reminded of childhood;

School days spent following my sisters down the road from our little rent house to our neighborhood school,

blustery winds blowing our hair into our eyes and our papers into oblivion,

books tucked into book bags,

soggy sack lunches and the daily frets of homework...

Time when all our little family had to hold it together was God.

Didn't have money, that's for sure.

And I'm reminded much more of how God lived and moved right there among us every single day.

During this time, Mom was the sole provider for our family. Dad was in prison.

So hard times came as natural to us as wind in west Texas.

But it was during those hard times when I found the faithfulness of God to be real and true.

We were hard pressed for money, and yet never went a day without food.

Sometimes there were fresh fruit and vegetables that mysteriously appeared inside our car in bags or boxes or just laid out on the car's seat.

Other times a friendly face would bring them to us in paper bags and leave them on the porch, or hand deliver them to us during church.

My favorite time was when we all came home from church one Wednesday night, and found somebody had opened up a window... to leave us a mountain of food on the table and inside our refrigerator.

Boxes of clothes, bags of coats and shoes and sweaters, endless supplies of just what we needed just when we needed it most... always supplied at the precise moment of our greatest need.

Anonymous gift certificates for back to school shopping would come in the mail.

People would walk up to Mom and just hand her an envelope, give her a hug and a smile and then turn to go.

And we never had to beg. Never had to borrow. Never had to go one time of being without.

Small miracles on every side.

And the love overflowed and washed over us wave after wave.

I remember feeling closer to my sisters right then than I've ever felt since.

And we're still close, even now.

But the closeness during that time, it was so strong... the love of God just absorbed us inside it and clung to us as though we'd been dipped in honey.

I won't say there weren't days of wishing for things.

Our society has taught us materialism to a fault.

But our NEEDS were met. We lacked nothing we needed.

Rent was provided. Meals were had. Clothes were given.

And the blessings it brought on those who gave to our little family were just as great as the blessings they had given to us in our time of need.

I recall in particular one Thanksgiving day.

Mother had worked and saved and paid every bill.

Every utility and the rent, all paid.

But there was nothing left over for anything beyond the basics.

Mother opened the refrigerator and found all we had left was a package of hot-dogs and some bread and some canned vegetables.

Now for a kid in elementary school, hot-dogs are great.

Never a complaint about a hot-dog for any meal.

But for Mom...

well, she was very sad that all we had to eat was only hot-dogs.

But she prayed and thanked God for the food we had, and reminded us the real thing behind Thanksgiving is about the thankfulness, and not the food.

But she wished for at least a chicken or something that would seem a bit more traditional for us to remember.

And then.... the most wonderful thing happened......

Across town, a boy in our church was outside raking the yard.

He was thinking of Thanksgiving, and wondering about what other people who were less fortunate would do for Thanksgiving.

And his mind crossed over the new family with three little girls who had recently come to his church.

So right where he was, he stopped his raking, bowed his head, and said a prayer for them.

At that very moment, he opened his eyes, looked down at his pile of leaves, and there, caught among the the tines of his rake,

he saw a ten dollar bill.

He smiled, looked up and said, "Thank you Lord!" and ran into the house to show his mother.

Then he asked if she would mind going to the store to help him buy a few things for that little family with the three girls who had so very little.

He wanted to buy a turkey and whatever else was needed for a Thanksgiving dinner.

His mother said of course, and in less than an hour they were delivering a box full of food across town.

Doesn't God move in the most awesome and mysterious ways?

Doesn't He just amaze you with His faithfulness?

He sure amazes me... to think of using a kid across town and putting a ten dollar bill into a rake...

Now that was a miracle in my life.

There are many more.

But every autumn, when the leaves begin to fall, it always brings to mind

the faithfulness and wonder of our Heavenly Father....
ever reminding me to be thankful in all things.
=)

Like Little Children

Had the weirdest thought hit my head the other day...
I was standing there thinking of how as we pray, we enter into the presence of the Father. We close our eyes, then come before Him and stand right there where He alone sees us....
But what struck me was, how He sees us.
We see ourselves as adults. Career women and men. Moms and dads, uncles and aunts, sisters and brothers. We look at that face every day in the mirror, and to us, that is who we are.
But what God is looking on is the heart. He sees us as we really, really are down inside.
Inside each one of us, we're more than the clothes on the outside. We're something more than just flesh and bones and hair and makeup and what we do up every day to make ourselves presentable to others.
Inside, we're all just children.
Children of God.
So as we stand before Him, do we stand as children?
I got a sort of mental picture that came to view of a group of people standing before the throne, at first as adults.
Then we closed our eyes, lifted our hands and as suddenly as we really got into the worship and prayers and praise of Him, the outside of each of us began to sort of unzip and then fall off like an oversized character suit worn by a person (sort of like those at Disney World or other theme parks).
And out of each suit stepped a child.
Wearing typical kid clothes. Shorts, pants, dresses, t-shirts, just a bunch of kids.
Like we'd been playing dress up as adults and suddenly we stepped out of those too big dress up clothes and they just laid there on the ground while we stepped outside of them.
And as we looked around in wide-eyed wonder, we saw one another as children.
Smiles began to spread over our faces.
Then we laughed and hopped and skipped around and danced and ran circles like kids do, and enjoyed a wonderful time in His presence.
The old stuff just dropped off of us. No more tired muscles. No aching backs or hurt shoulders or stiff knees or arthritis or bad eyes or loss of hearing...
nothing holding us back.
No hurts. No pain. No old age.
Just giddy child-like happiness and joy as we danced as children before the Father.
And I do think that is how He sees us.
Not as these aging creatures so stiff and bent and ravaged by time, but as the children He created us to be.
Able to run, dance, skip, hop, jump and twirl around before Him in joy and freedom.
Freedom.
In Him, we find freedom and joy and laughter and love and life abundant... just as He meant it to be.
In His presence, as we enter there, trusting and hoping and joyful, just as little children, we find there what we're so hungry for.
To be in His presence, worshipping in freedom and real joy.
Trusting in Him with faith as a little child.
For if we become as little children, we look at things from that perspective. We really believe He can do all things.
We trust that He loves us and will take care of everything.
And we know everything He says is truth because that's what our Father is all about.
So let's drop these drab and heavy old clothes.
All our dress up games of being adults who carry the heavy world on our shoulders...
Let's lay them aside, leave 'em lying on the floor.
And let's dance as the little children we really are inside.
No self conscious peering around to see who is watching us.
No feeling as if we don't know the right moves.
God is watching, nobody else matters.
Let us kick off those heavy shoes and lay aside our heavy hearts and close our eyes to see only Him...
and dance.
Twirling.
Prancing.
Jumping.
Leaping.
Dancing and running and laughing...
Free as the children we really are inside.
No bullies.
No cares.
No worries.
Just us and God, sharing the moment together.
Flying with our feet in sheer joy for the Life He's given us.
Let's run and play with the Lord!


Matthew 18
1 At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?

2 And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them,

3 And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.

4 Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

Thankful In All Things

Now thankful IN all things doesn't mean the same thing as thankful FOR all things....
There is a difference.
But, I had to share this little story with you that I found to be very interesting... especially since we are flying into Thanksgiving in the next few days.
Sometimes it is hard for me to remember to be thankful when frustrations run high.
But this story kind of puts things into a different light.
I hope you see what I mean....

Thankful for the Fleas

The barracks where Corrie ten Boom and her sister Betsy were kept in the Nazi concentration camp Ravensbruck were terribly overcrowded and flea-infested.

They had been able to miraculously smuggle a Bible into the camp, and in that Bible they had read that in all things there were to give thanks, and that God can use anything for good.

Corrie’s sister Betsy decided that this meant thanking God for the fleas.

This was too much for Corrie, who said she could do no such thing. Betsy insisted, so Corrie gave in and prayed to God, thanking Him even for the fleas.

Over the next several months a wonderful, but curious, thing happened. They found that the guards never entered their barracks. This meant that women were not assaulted. It also meant that they were able to do the unthinkable, which was to hold open Bible studies and prayer meetings in the heart of a Nazi concentration camp.

Through this, countless numbers of women came to faith in Christ.

Only at the end did they discover why the guards had left them alone and would not enter into their barracks.

It was because of the fleas.


Kind of makes me say, what on earth am I complaining about?
Point taken...
Much to be thankful for, even in the big and little frustrations that seem to fill our lives every day.
Maybe the next time I get a little bite from a flea, it will make me remember this story.

Let us keep our hearts full of Thanksgiving every single day.

Love Is Written On His Arms

Actions speak louder than words...


Who knows this better than those who have needed help and found somebody there right in the nick of time? A helping hand in our time of desperation is more precious than a box full of treasure. How many of us have been stranded as the car ran out of gas, or just stopped running for some reason and left us totally unprepared and at the mercy of anyone willing to stop and help? Or how about getting up to the check out at the grocery store and realizing you've left your money at the house which is a half hour or more away? Or how about being in a quiet panic knowing what you've been paid isn't going to cover all the bills, and you're wondering how on earth you'll make it through the month?
There are many more emergencies and dire situations we've all experienced. We’ve all needed some help, big or small, to make it through a hard time. And what a relief and a surprise it was when somebody stepped up and came forward to offer you assistance when it was most needed in your life.


The high school choir at church just got back from a trip to the Houston area where they went to help fix up some areas that had been affected by the recent hurricane. They scraped and primed and painted, mowed and raked and picked up garbage, cut down and pulled up and hauled away trees, branches and bramble of all sorts. And at the end of every day, after working long hours in the 100+ temperatures, these kids would still find the energy to shower and change clothes to look nice and put on another concert every night. And people say teenagers are a lost cause... I beg to differ.
When my son came back from this ten day trip, I was there to greet the bus as soon as it pulled in. He was still in his hoodie from the trip home. It has long sleeves for those who get a little chilled under the air conditioning. So there he was, busy grabbing luggage from beneath the bus, acting as though he was a one man loading crew...
Anyway, I watched and smiled to myself remembering all the times he's done this before. Three previous years of high school band, not including this last one, and three prior high school church choir trips... which all combined makes for a lot of unloading busses. Finally he had dragged the last of the bags from beneath the vehicle and located his own suitcase and began to walk back toward the car. In the heat of unloading, he had pushed up his sleeves. Then I suddenly saw his arms. I gasped! What on earth???


He laughed and joked about it. I couldn't believe how scratched up they looked. His arms looked as though he'd been in a fight with a weed whacker, or a cage full of psychotic cats. They were scratched from the wrist to the elbow and had little clear blistery sores scattered around between all the scratches.
"What on earth happened to your arms?"


After his joking about it for several minutes, he finally told me.
He had been helping to clean up this one house, and they had a lot of overgrowth that needed to be cleared away. So he and the others had been hacking at trees and branches and bramble and all sorts of fence line plants and shrubs and carrying it off. And he hadn't really noticed it much with the scratches, with bramble you're going to get scratched even with your best efforts to avoid it. But then he got into some fire ants.

When he was done with that, his arms were red and swollen and pretty painful. But he took it all in stride. He's just like that. It's no big deal, he will say, and won't admit to feeling any pain.


But to me it's painful to look at.


And seeing his arms brought to memory a song I'd heard.
Here are the lyrics:
**********************************************************

The boy only wanted to give Mother something
And all of her roses had bloomed
Looking at her as he came rushing in with them
Knowing her roses were doomed
All she could see were some thorns buried deep
And the tears that he cried as she tended his wounds

And she knew it was love
It was one she could understand
He was showing his love
And that's how he hurt his hands

He still remembers that night as child
On his mother's knee
She held him close and she opened her bible
And quietly started to read
And seeing a picture of Jesus he cried out
"Momma, he's got some scars just like me."

And he knew it was love
It was one he could understand
He was showing his love
And that's how he hurt his hands

Now the boy's grown and moved out on his own
When Uncle Sam comes along
A foreign affair, but our young men were there
And luck had his number drawn
It wasn't that long till our hero was gone
He gave to a friend what he learned from the cross

But they knew it was love
It was one they could understand
He was showing his love
And that's how he hurt his hands

It was one they could understand
He was showing his love
And that's how he hurt his hands
**********************************************
And it struck me.
His arms aren't just covered with nasty painful scratches and fiery blisters...
These are the wounds of love.
Not gushy flowery words that tickle the ear and blow away in the winds of time...
but real, hard-working love given from one person to another.
A helping hand.
Ready and willing to give until it hurts.
I'm so glad he did the work.
I know it helped somebody who desperately needed other people to intervene.
And even as he gave something precious and real to the owner of the home he worked on,
he brought back something priceless to me as well.
God uses such personal ways to teach us things, doesn't he?

Point taken.
Powerful lesson at the hands of a group of teenagers.
Blessed are the scars of love.
His passion, his love is written right there on his arms for all to see.
Sometimes scars hold a powerful meaning.

Remember the scars of the only One who could save us are still there for all to see when we finally meet Him face to face.
Let us wear our scars without shame for they tell a story everyone in the whole world needs to hear.

Let us look at our own scars and let them help us to remember a love so powerful and deep and real that we would give anything and everything we have to share it.

Let love be written on our arms, our legs, our hands, our feet, our entire being.

And above all, let love be written on our hearts

“I have engraved you on the palms of my hands. Your walls are always in my presence.”

            -Isaiah 49:16