Fearless

Trust is hard. It's something I think I've mastered, and yet I have to continue to practice it purposely each and every day. Sometimes I long for the day when trusting comes as easily as breathing or dreaming. 

This weekend was retreat -  in two senses of the word. One, I was literally on the women's retreat for our church's district. Two, I completely retreated from the last bit of fight I've been putting up for so long. 

I officially resigned this weekend from living life with my fists up. 

I wanted so badly to hear God this weekend, for Him to shout so clearly that there was absolutely no mistaking His voice. When my face was hit with the first touches of mountain air and we settled into our room, I was hesitantly hopeful my want would turn into a reality. 

The speaker was incredible, and the companionship was sweet. I was bowled over with the existence of a very real blessing in my life - the presence of strong, capable, God-loving women who live to build hope toward Christ instead of spend time tearing each other down. 

I resolved not to cry at retreat, which was likely a stupid resolution for a weekend where they gift each registrant with a pack of tissues, and then proceed to hand out extras at some of the meetings. Nonetheless, I steeled myself against the flood of emotions I knew I'd have to work hard to avoid, all but verbally daring God to break down my final (and pathetically precarious) wall. 

I knew I was in trouble when the main speaker referenced two bible stories I've long identified with: the bent over woman (Luke 13) and the demon possessed man (Mark 5).  

Or, in the specific ways I identify with their stories....a woman unable to look up from her shame, and a person so unhappy he physically cut his body to find relief. 

Those were sadly both me. The cutter at this time last year, and the ashamed downward girl until....um....yesterday? 

I could write a novel about this weekend, but I'll shorten it a bit: 

- I wanted to hear God speak but my fear pushed Him away. 

- I pouted when God didn't speak. 

- I so desperately wanted to hear God speak, I decided that nothing in my life was worth the cost of silencing Him any longer. 

He's not going to force His spirit upon me. I used to think he would, because isn't that what people do with me? Force me into their mold, their reality, their opinions? As a very broken, very raw ministry leader, I thought God would just join the pile on party and officially break me until I started to obey. 

But fortunately, like someone said this weekend, God is a gentleman. 

Last night was a time where my perspective changed. Last year, in the same room, God called me to be determined. This year, He called me to be brave. Not to be a brave fighter, (which I think I sometimes am, because otherwise I wouldn't still be here), but to be brave enough to let the victory be HIS. 

To let it go. To know I can't do squat in my own strength. To stop getting in the way. 

This is how I ended up face down sobbing into the floor, pleading with God to fix everything.

Please, Daddy. Just fix it. 

And, because His ways are not mine, He fixed everything by.....wait for it....not fixing it. 

Yep. I didn't receive an instant healing. My hurts are still there. But through some ridiculously intense crying, my heart and my prayer started to change. I went from "please help, please fix, please reverse time," to a new prayer of, "Jesus, if the only thing you ever give me is Your sacrifice on the cross, that needs to be enough." 

I cried and cried - and people, I have two modes in life - silly/sarcastic and UGLY CRY. 

So as I covered a corner of the carpet in tears, snot and Maybelline, I acknowledged that Christ's sacrifice was so impressively fearless, that I have no right to be afraid. 

All of the hurts I've faced (the big ones), God showed me how He was there waiting for me, but I turned to something else instead. I served God around Him, never beside or within Him. 

Falling into His fearless heart, the anxiety and unrelenting pressure and thoughts were gone. It was as if God said to me all but audibly, "Oh, how long I've waited for permission to love you!" 

God is a gentleman. He'll let me completely wreck my heart before He will ever force me to do anything. 

While praying with someone later that night, it felt as if something/someone physically got up and walked out of the little chapel we were sitting in. 

And the crazy stopped. All was completely, remarkably quiet. 

My fight isn't over. I am back from my holy honeymoon and already feel my feet slipping.....but this time it's different. 

My fight isn't over, but I'm no longer the one fighting. 

God loves me and He is for me. He loves you too, and is standing by ready to be let in. 

Together, we are fearless.