I wrote this a few months ago and wanted to share now. I’m sleeping through the night every night. I’m in a different place, but I don’t want to forget these things that were taught to my fragile, tired heart.
Maybe if I just keep going. Maybe if I just keep living this life with emotions so close to the surface like on the days that I’ve had no sleep. When I see the injury of every person and wonder how they survive this all—all of this pain. The man cleaning his oozing feet by the subway station in the Upper west Side, the people alone, afraid. I know nothing of these things…I’ve only had a taste of an anxiety and exhaustion that is so real it makes your body shake and fear so Tall and Broad that you have to remind yourself you are on the side of angels just to make it down the sidewalk.
What am I to make of this? These emotions will get sleep and these fears are being medicated—with pills and the Gospel. What of me?
I know one thing. He is begging me to be free. Not in a social way or a careless way but in a real way that causes me to enjoy this life and to throw back my head with laughter and to dance with my husband and to FLY.
I associate freedom with sin and with recklessness and ultimately consequences and punishment. What do I know of the Gospel, then? That I invited an invisible Man-God to live inside my heart and control my life when I was five and now I get to go to Heaven?
But the Gospel means that I didn’t have a miscarriage because my life was too easy and God needed to bring me something hard to teach me a lesson.
In those dark days, He wasn’t standing in the corner with a lesson book, but he was curled in a ball with me even while I raged at him. That has to be what the Gospel means, right?
The Gospel means I am not looking over my shoulder, looking out for Consequence. I am not one to get away with things, Consequence will get me, Consequence will find me. And I will deserve it.
If I have some mean thoughts, perhaps I will get sick. That is so foreign to the Gospel that it is Anti-Gospel and I am desperately wanting it out of my life.
Consequence has been blocked by something very mighty and almost mystical. Blood, sacrifice, a stand in, a replacement for all time. And instead I get freedom. If I look over my shoulder I can just expect to see broken chains that can never be hammered back to fit me. They are worthless forever.
I suppose some people think “freedom” is the ability to “Be themselves” but I think of it as a lightness that nothing on this earth can provide. Feet that just barely touch the ground, mind void of comparison, a joy that tickles the throat.
I think of a little girl, without a worry in her heart, spinning, running, jumping, laughing, singing. For what? It’s what a free person does when they befriend joy.
The weights I wear are mostly self inflicted. God never said He was disappointed in me, I told myself that God was disappointed in me. But the Gospel has come to swallow it all up. Even that last echo of a voice– gone for all time.