free to be

“So, tell me why you’re here.”

Staring down at my feet, I tried my best to formulate an answer. I squirmed a bit in my seat knowing that he was waiting for my response. I felt swallowed up by the oversized chair I was sitting in. The office was dimly lit in an attempt to make it feel less threatening. Nonetheless, I felt like a child in the principal’s office. The room had the distinct, mildly nauseating air of a clinic. My mind was reeling and I felt my heart pounding in my chest.
‘Why am I here?’

Generally speaking, I'm a 'glass half full' kind of girl. :) However, a number of months ago, the world felt terribly dark and I wanted to hibernate day and night under the covers. It was unfamiliar territory for me. I was sad but I didn’t know why. I dreamed, and talked, and wrote about freedom because it felt so terribly far away from my reality. Like a caged bird dreaming of open air, I longed to get out of the prison I found myself in. It was as if all of the painful parts of life were catching up—threatening to overtake the false sense of peace I created in my heart. And while the solitude of the covers felt safe, I hated being alone. I wondered on a daily basis if I would feel this way forever.

So, one day I found myself in that room, sitting on that slick, oversized chair, wishing I could be swallowed up. ‘why am I here?’ On day one, I simply followed orders. “Go see a counselor” occupied a single line on a script of things I ought to do in order to feel better. And so I went, dragging my feet-staring at the ground, feeling somewhat ashamed. But as it turns out, I was meant to be in that chair and every day I've returned since then, I’ve gone in pursuit of something greater.

I know many of you are very much aware that this has been part of our journey over the past few months. Not typically the type of thing one blogs about…right? The thing is, it’s been good. Not fun, not painless, but real...and real, is good. The door to that lonely cage has opened up and now I feel like I’m sitting on a threshold. Soon the time is coming where I will make a choice: leap or retreat. This girl wants to test her wings.

“Slow down Child. At this pace you will not be whole. Wholeness takes time with God, letting Him bind us up from the bruises and bumps of inevitable living.”

It’s amazing how we slap band aids on bleeding wounds and leave them unattended, to heal on their own. Eventually, the band aids aren’t enough. You can go to all of the counselors in the world, you can share your story with a handful of others, you can cry and make resolutions to do better or to be better but if you don’t get on your knees and let Him have your broken, sinful heart, you’ll always be a dreamer. Freedom will always elude you. Wholeness takes time with God. Period.

I’m thankful for that stiff, uncomfortable chair; for compassionate counselors and friends who pray. I’m thankful for medicine which promotes sleep and takes the edge off of my grumpiness. (cheers to that, right, Kyle?) But above all, I’m thankful for a God who meets us where we’re at and that He doesn’t allow any of the above, apart from Him, to take away the hurt.