Who Runs This Thing?

Seeing another Mount Sinai moment, I seize it hopefully.  My feet walk me through spiky fall grass to a bench perched alongside a lake. The lake is still, not even the sound of water licking the rocks. Just construction noise in the distance. I feel dew soak through my pants and shiver. Close my eyes, push in gently. Remind me who You are, God.

I reflect on my unusual morning. How a text from someone with heart problems had me sending wishes Heavenward before 5:00 a.m. How I usually fall right back to sleep but this morning had been a restless one. How I felt too closely connected to family members (by blood & otherwise) who are walking through darkness, through pain. How I tugged the blanket over my head & read 1 John because I ached to remember the goodness of the God who calls himself “compassion” [Isaiah 54:10]. How memories of my own sin & idolatry danced across my thoughts like autumn leaves on a busy street. How within I felt peace–not tranquility–but a peace that wrestles with pain & impatience & the blood of my soul that spills on everyone I come in contact with. How that peace has not always been there, but is a gift with no price tag, no return receipt. How I finally crawled out of my warm bed & decided to face the morning with a bike ride.

In those thoughts the Divine met me. The vision I had prayed for Sunday came. No trance, no goose bumps, but a simple picture. Images to help set me free again. A little girl; little me. Blonde, in a dress, dirt on her cheeks, standing at the end of a dock. The water was still like the water before me (in reality). I looked up, but as soon as I did I felt the burdens of those that I love & suffer with on both sides. They were there, breathing down my neck, keeping my eyes halfway between heaven & earth. But they don’t want to hold me down. Most of them love me. They want to see me fly.

Father, help me to let them go.

I stand and take one step at a time towards the lake. I want this moment to symbolize, in my heart, the moving away from idolatry. From earthly things. I feel the tension in my soul & step, step, step forward.

I believe that I can still be free, even as I walk with others through their pain. I don’t want to be anyone’s God. I don’t want to be anyone’s healer. I see in myself the desire to rule & submit that misplaced desire to the power greater than myself.

Relief doesn’t come immediately. Yet slowly I feel more grounded. Warmth like a coffee mug in hand starts to spread inside of me. I remember that this is God’s story, not mine.

As I ride my bike away from the lake I feel the freedom of knowing that he is healer. That he is God. The most beautiful news: I don’t have to be.

That’s the Message. I’m free from being God. My mistakes are part of a greater redemption story. Pressure is off. Love will bring me home. Love covers those I move away from sometimes; giving space so that we can all move closer towards heaven on earth. Those I move towards sometimes, because the pain is too deep to be plunged alone.

May your Kingdom come down, Jesus. Not mine.

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. ~Galations 1:5, NIV
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