In order to more fully value this life, and the lives of those around us, we need to be open to experiencing deep sadness. We need to walk through life with our arms outstretched and our doors open. We need to grieve when we lose someone. We need to sit with our feelings and learn from them.
I tend to keep my eyes ever fixed ahead. This tendency limits me from fully embracing and enjoying being right where I am. I wonder how many sweet moments I have missed because I was unable to look around me instead of ahead of me. As I am leaving one sweet season for the risky and unknown, I am trying my best to slow down, to savor, to commit, and to celebrate. It is these four things that I believe allow us to finish well so that we can begin strong.
It’s obvious the enemy loves to twist the way we see things, isn’t it? The truth in Romans 12:2 - the fact that I can actually renew my mind, and transform the way that I think through God’s truth - has been life-changing for me. Before working for Mercy, I never understood the power or even necessity of speaking scripture-based truth out loud over my life. It was exactly what I was missing in my journey towards freedom, and I’m so thankful for this life-changing tool. I’ve come to realize, more often than not, I don’t “feel” like doing it, but in those moments when I don’t feel like it - that’s when I need it the most.
"Find joy in the ordinary.” This quote knocked me off my feet my senior year of high school. I remember being stressed out, spread thin, and bogged down by new waves of responsibility. I was so close to the finish line, all I could think about was graduating and moving on to the next chapter of life. I was antsy and irritated, always trying to get on to the next thing.
So with that in mind, what would it look like to consider what God, the author and embodiment of love, says about you? Would you be willing to ask God to help you write a love letter to yourself? This may seem an odd thing to suggest. Perhaps even the thought of sitting down and asking God to help you write a letter professing love for yourself makes you want to run and hide. But lend me your ear, and let your heart sit with the idea for just a second. What would it be like to receive a love letter from the author of your story, your Father, the one who knit you together in your mother’s womb? The one who knows you inside and out? The one whose voice spoke the earth into existence and gently whispers to you in the darkest of nights?