Some Habits Must be Broken

There are words, themes, lessons of sorts that have been swirling around my head for quite some time. It has stumped me, unable to move forward in words and thoughts until this is sorted out. I know that God is teaching, transforming, so I search for a quiet moment on this precious Sabbath to process and decipher what it all is. By God's grace, now I sit alone, away from the tugs of little hands and demands of household chores, with people milling all around in laid back, African style, and a welcoming latte resting in front of me. The foam of the drink has been artfully shaped into a gentle heart, wispy and light, reminding of of what it is that God is after. Mine. My heart. The steam rises up as I struggle to offer up these thoughts and words.

Speak Lord. Your servant is listening. God of order and comfort, bring order to the tornado of thoughts. 

God, I hear you speaking.

He speaks healing.

He speaks comfort.

He speaks joy.

He speaks gratitude.

He speaks peace.

He speaks Life.

Anger is a habit, detrimental, devastating, destroying habit, but a habit nonetheless. Learned. Practiced. Mastered. It starts out small. Someone offends, betrays, wrongs in some way. I feel the offense and take it in. I welcome it in to unpack and make itself at home. It dwells, and welcomes its sisters, bitterness, resentment, and rage. They are messy houseguests, but stay for quite some time. They begin to call the shots. 

In a move of protection from further offense, I callously write the person off, shrugging of the hurt as no big deal. Doesn’t bother me. I don’t need that in my life.

So in the name of defending self, in response to a small hurt, a small corner of the heart hardens, blackens, and dies. I don’t feel it because it was small, an inconspicuous death numbed by the sense of justification and gall. It crept in unnoticed and now sits quietly, brewing, waiting to spread.

The first death took a small toll, though ire and disgust glazed the view. But by the third or fourth death, the response is a killer on autopilot, and the funeral is swift and emotionless. The mourners stand on the graves of previous victims, as the cemetery is becoming quite crowded. There is no thanks for things seen, or unseen. Nothing can be offered up, not even condolences for the tragic passing, as the true tragedy lies in the lack of vision for what is happening. The eyes are closed to the divine, and only hurt lingers. Gratitude is dead.

And so the cycle is formed, the habit established. Anger has moved in, as it alone can live in the blackness of a dead heart. Lifeblood cannot pump to those regions. Light cannot dwell with anger. Growth cannot compete with despair. A slow shut down has begun.

And yet He has spoken Life. The heart can only house one feeling at a time. It can only be filled with one spirit at a time. Life and Death will not cohabitate. Light and darkness with not reside side by side. Anger and peace will not live together. Mercy and disgust will not hold hands. Gratitude has no dwelling with such darkness ruling the land. So when He speaks Life, He speaks change, transformation.

He speaks a new thing, just as He is calling His children into a new creation, with a new name.

But then this habit must first be broken. 

The Ahhh of Life

So for the past two weeks, my husband has been traveling and training. I tend to not talk about him being away while he is away because I prefer not to broadcast that news, but currently he is back in Kenya with us. Now, when we are in the states and he travels, it is a challenge. Being home with 3 young girls is exhausting. But when we are in the states, there is a bit more of a support system in place, most of the time. I have a vehicle, most of the time, and am able to go places, be active, get out with the girls. I can go to the gym to burn off excess stress, or calories. I can meet girlfriends for lunch and have adult conversations. I have family and friends around to help me with the girls occasionally if I need a break, or need to run an errand alone. I have options.

But when he travels and we are here in Africa, that support system is not in place, and life is a bit more exhausting than normal, to say the least. So the past two weeks were certainly a challenge. There were days when all patience was gone, but snippy, kurt responses were just flowing. There were days that early bedtimes were just flat-out necessary for sanity's sake. There were days that I just could not come up with enough things for them to do to keep their hands busy and out of trouble. It was rough, and I was more than ready for my husband to come home.

Truth be told, though, those rough days are not only limited to my husband's travel days. Sometimes, it is just downright hard to be passionate about staying at home with the kids. I worked hard for my education and loved my career, though it certainly took a toll on my heart. But I loved being able to contribute to something bigger than myself, to be a part of the world and be passionate about giving of myself, and receiving gratitude, or any feedback at all, for the work that I did. Some days, it is really hard to get passionate about changing one more diaper whose stench could make your eyes water. It's hard to get excited about cleaning up yet another spill, or finding yet another pair of lost shoes, or washing the laundry again, not to mention the dishes. And the mouths to be fed, floors to be cleaned, beds to be made, etc. etc. etc. There are days when those sibling squabbles are just more than I can handle.

To hear that familiar wail of:

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM! Toria hit me!" 

or 

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM! Juju pulled my hair!" 

or 

"MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM! Toria is looking at me!!" 

or 

"MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM! Juju won't leave me alone!" 

or 

any combination of the above, plus many, many more, 

for the umpteenth time in a day, 

it's enough to throw me over the edge.

Last night one of the girls came to with one of the above listed complaints, I think it was that her sister hit her. So I, in my pure apathy and lack of desire to play referee just one more time for the day, told her to go hit her sister back. She looked at me, puzzled for a moment, then quickly said, "OK" and turned to pursue the offender. There are those days when I just reach my absolute end, and would much rather throw the two girls into a ring and let them battle it out to see who will be standing at the end, declare the winner and send them all to bed. 

My husband looked at me in wonderment as he stopped the offended from going after her offender. It's OK. He hasn't been here. There are those days, though, when I just wonder what my contribution is, or if I have just faded into some invisible vacuum of mommyhood that has swallowed my identity whole.

But then there are other moments, when I am reminded of what I am building into. When one of my little girls looks at me and says with a genuine heart, "Mommy, I want to be just like you when I grow up." Or another will take my face in hands and say, "Mommy, you are the best mommy I know." There are those redeeming moments when I am reminded that I am building them, that I am contributing to the future by letting these girls know that they are worth everything, and more. 

There are things that I am doing for myself these days, healing journeys that I am on, issues that I am tackling that I was never willing to venture on before. There are things that I am doing now for myself, because of them. Because I don't want them to take the path that I did. I don't want them to struggle as I have. I don't want them to make the same mistakes that I did. I want them to know their worth, their dignity, their value. I didn't, and I paid dearly for it. Still do. But them, no...I'm building into them so that they know. 

Sunday night we picked my husband up at the Nairobi airport as he was arriving back from the Congo. Our nephew was driving, and as we drove home, my husband was sitting in front passenger seat, and I sat in the back seat with the girls. The baby was on my lap, sitting on my left thigh with her head resting on my chest. Her left hand had reached up to stroke my cheek (she loves to touch my face) and came to rest there. My middle daughter was sitting on my right side and had laid her head down on my right thigh, my right arm resting on her back. My oldest daughter was sitting beside her sister to my right, and she had taken my right hand in hers and was resting her head on my forearm with my hand in her lap. My girls were all over me, resting and loving, and I was at complete peace with them. And then as we drove, my husband reached his right hand back around his seat and wrapped his hand around my lower right leg, resting it there in love and consolation. 

It was in that moment as we drove home from the airport, when the weight of exhaustion and loneliness was at its heaviest from two weeks without my husband, it was in that very moment when all hands were on me, claiming a part of my body to lay theirs to rest, that the Ahhh of life settled in. It was an Ahhh of peace, an exhalation of relaxation to know that I am paying into something so much greater than myself. It was a settling confirmation that my mundane, often unnoticed contributions throughout a normal day, have, in fact, not gone unnoticed. Because they want to be like me someday. They see something, something that I have not yet even seen fully in myself. Something strong. Something of dignity. Something of worth and valor. They see it. And my Creator is giving me eyes to see it as well.

They see it. And they want to be like me. 

She is clothed with strength and dignity. 

I am praying for the perseverance and wisdom to continue to contribute to this cause. To their cause, which ultimately, is my cause. It gives me pause to exhale, and say Ahhhhh...

Check out Suzannah's blog to read about other pilgrims' journeys, that we may all shout, laugh, and love together. 

Standing in Awe

When I read about what love is and what it looks like, how to live it out, it is full of actions that have become almost foreign to me. To trust, to hope, to be patient and kind, to overlook offenses and not be easily angered. All of these actions go against every grain of my natural body. Life has taught me otherwise. Life has taught me that these actions are foolishness. Life has taught me that people will walk all over you, take advantage of you, slander your character, all for their own gain. Life has taught me that you have to stand and defend yourself, as no one else will. But these days, God is doing a new thing in my life, and some chains have been cut loose.

For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God. -1 Corinthians 1:18

Soften what has become hard. It is time to love again. Open your hands, unclench your fists, release to Me all that you have been clinging to, as it has only hurt you more. Soften what has become hard.

It turns out that I have a defender, I have one who speaks on my behalf. I have one who has lavished His love upon me, in such great magnitude that He even went as far as to crown my head with glory and honor. My head! Yes, even my head.

It seems that I had gotten in the habit of acquiring knowledge, but not experiencing the truth of God in my life. I wondered and fretted about my own apparent lack of growth, and blamed God for abandoning me, turning a deaf ear to my cries, neglecting my broken heart. And then I came across this today:

A man's own folly ruins his life, yet his heart rages against the Lord. -Proverbs 19:3

Hmmm. Yes.

In a very bad habit of anger, bitterness, resentment, my heart ached and burned against the Lord, as if it were His doing. But now it is His undoing that has set my heart free, and I could feel the stone within my chest melt, as my body relaxed and I made a choice to forgive and not react. I made a choice to focus on what God had done for me, and allowed His strength to be present in my weakness. And now this captive is being set free, chains of insecurity, doubt, mistrust, and hurt that have held me in fear and bondage for most of my life are falling away and I am feeling how easy His yoke is. I just can't even tell you the freedom that I am experiencing, even in the midst of turmoil and hurt. And yet, I have a peace which passes all understanding, and I just know that the victory will be His alone, for my good and for His glory.

He is that good, yall!

So these days I am absolutely standing in awe of who He is and He power to work in my life. Somehow it is easy to get into routines and habits, which may enhance knowledge and build up the mind, but neglect the growth and experience of God himself. Yesterday I laughed out loud because of how good He is and the peace that He had put in my heart. I was down-right giddy! And now I am reading His word with fresh eyes, not simply taking the words to heart, but taking the promises to heart and expecting Him to move. This one touched and inspired me:

In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence. -Ephesians 3:12

Seriously! We may approach the King of the universe with confidence, and ask Him to do in us what His word says He can (and wants to) do. This has changed everything and I am almost overwhelmed with this love that He has lavished upon us!

What about you? Are you experiencing His power in your life? Are you expecting Him to set you free, or just hoping to make it through your days with fire insurance? We all have stories (which reminds me that I need to start writing mine!) and we all have baggage of some sort. The question is, who is carrying it? I am praying that you would allow Him full access in your life, to move and cut some chains loose!

A Long Night's Journey Into Day

**These were the words that were born out of my healing experience in South Africa. If you are just coming in, the story started back here.**

A Long Night’s Journey Into Day

It’s been a long night’s journey into day and my feet are growing weary from the travel. Just on the horizon a fire grows brighter, but I’ve traveled so long in darkness that my body recoils from the light. As much as the flesh draws back, though, the heart pushes on closer to the rays of sunshine coming up over the land. This journey began long ago, long before my feet ever touched the ground, but this very day was known in all its splendor and detail to the One who pieced me together. The sun is now coming up.

The night was so long as I ran from sun’s outstretched rays. Around the world I went just to outrun that fire in the sky that consumes all darkness, revealing what is hidden and dragging out into the open that which is well concealed. Through turning my back on God, through the rape, through the drugs and alcohol, through the hatred and rage, through the violence and lawlessness that became normal life, watch me run. “This is the verdict: light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil¹.”

But running without rest leaves the soul tired and dry, cracked on the heels, blistered on the toes, and parched at the lips. The heart resents the consistently fast pace and the body wearies of the pounding. It all begins to fall apart.

There is no depth too deep that God’s arms cannot reach you.

There is just no depth too deep.

“In Him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness but the darkness has not understood it².” What I could not understand was the mercy that was being offered to me. What I could not understand was the forgiveness being given to me. What I could not understand was how a King could take my punishment upon himself. What I could not understand was a love so unconditional that even the darkness within me was covered by the blood He shed. What I could not understand was that no matter how far or how fast I ran, the Light was still waiting to shine on the horizon of my heart.

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there. If I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me, and the light become night around me,’ even the darkness will not be dark to you, the night will shine like day, for darkness is as light to you³.”

So the running stops, and in the wee hours of the morning, the light of the Almighty begins to pierce the bitter obscurity that had become my existence. One by one, my sin, my hurt, my brokenness, my rage, my violence, my irreverence, and my hatred began to take shape, their forms revealed slowly by the long-awaited day. Just as sunshine pours through the tiny window of an unlit prison cell, revealing the cobwebs and dust of a stagnant, stale life, so the Light began to illuminate my life, causing my eyes to squint and turn away, and my heart to break for all the atrocities it harbored for so long.

Africa surrounds me now,

where the rays of the mighty fire dance on the mountains just over the waters of the deep blue.

I am the acacia tree that sways as the Spirit blows.

I am the lion who stretches out in the warm air.

I am the hospitality that was so generously given to God’s servants.

I am the colors woven into the old woman’s dress.

I am the church bell chiming to the people.

I am the drum beating to the sound of a new life.

I am the rock crying out in the silence.

I am the child lifting her hands up to her daddy to be held.

I am the broken man sitting in the cold prison cell.

I am the babe living with the fatal disease.

I am the prostitute weeping at the feet of the great Teacher.

I am the dirty kid begging in the streets for a piece of bread.

I am the guitar that belts out melodies of thanksgiving and

I am the voice that cannot sing loud enough.

I am the mountain that can be moved by His mere voice.

I am the imperfect broken vessel that is being used by the Perfect Creator,

and I am the immovable cold prison walls that do not give way.

I am a small reflection of the immeasurable grace

that was so easily poured out to me.

I am the tear that rolls down the cheek of the hardened criminal.

I am the hardened criminal.

I am the forgiveness offered to the rapist behind bars,

and I am the victim turned survivor of that very rape.

I am a picture of all that is wrong, and I am picture of all that is right.

Africa surrounds me and has enveloped my heart.

The incredible sun now hangs just above the mountains that dump into the oceans where my sin is buried. The Light now touches all that was once hidden, the cobwebs are torn down, the dust is brushed off, and what was once stagnant and stale is being moved out, stirred up, and stretched beyond all comfort for the glory of God. “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made His light to shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ⁴.” So it has been a long night’s journey into day, and it will now be a long day’s journey Home.

¹ John 3:19; ² John 1:4-5; ³ Psalm 139:7-12; ⁴ 2 Corinthians 4:6

To Make a Long Story Short...

**This is a continuation of yesterday's post, which was a continuation of the previous day's post, which a continuation...you get the point. This story started here, if you want to take a look back.**

Over the course of the next several days, every one of the men sitting in that half circle around me asked for forgiveness for the wrong that they had done. God's math is interesting sometimes (read: all the time), as I had demanded, in my anger and hatred, the humble act of three men. I held on to this grudge in my heart, wanting three guilty men to beg for forgiveness from me. Instead, God sent 8 men, all carrying around a burden too great for them to bare, in the roughest of situations, who sought forgiveness from some who simply represented their sin. They didn't hurt me. They were not my offenders. But God showed me what it looked like to release someone from their pain.

The simple act of forgiveness.

But the strangest part of it was that it was more cathartic for me than I imagine it was for them. Each time I spoke the words, a chunk of black rot fell away from my heart, revealing the vibrant red lifeblood flowing beneath it. Each time I said, "You are forgiven," my burden got lighter as well. It's as if the weight of hatred and anger and bitterness had actually caused my back to hunch over, forcing me to face the ground, always looking down. The bitterness was so heavy that it forced me to walk hunched over, never able to lift my shoulders nor my eyes to even see what has in front of me. All I could see was the ground below me, and the hunched over shadow that was cast on it.

But as I gave out forgiveness, some of that burden fell away, and I could stand a little taller. As I spoke it again, my shoulders moved a little more. And as the weight became lighter, it became easier to shake it off, easier to forgive as I realized that it was blessing me just as much, if not more. By the time most of the black, rotten hatred had fallen away, I could lift my head up and actually look around, even look up toward the One who had forgiven me.

All that time, I had thought that forgiving meant letting someone off the hook. But it turns out that they're not on my hook to begin with. Forgiving doesn't release them, it releases me to stand tall again. It releases my heart to love again, to laugh again, to even trust again. It releases me to truly share in the sufferings of Christ, enduring that which was not deserved, but saying, "Forgive them Father. They know not what they do." All that time, I didn't know that forgiving them would release me back to freedom, and had nothing to do with them, other than blessing them.

Remember the violet? That precious flower released the sweetest perfume only after being crushed, after feeling the full weight of hatred. The sweetest part of the bloom was given up as a blessing for the one that crushed it. And that blessing is carried on to others. Because Christ forgave me, passing the blessing on to me allowed me to pass it on to others. And as that sweetness was released onto others, my heart experienced great freedom and unshakable joy.

What about you? Are you walking in the freedom that was intended for you? Or are you holding on to a grudge that is not yours to carry? Is it time to forgive? Blessings to you all.

What Do You See Now?

This rough man sat, nay, slouched in his chair across from me, his right arm dangling across his thigh, the other arm thrown back casually over the back of the seat. There was silence among the other men, as this tattooed, dark thug began to tell his story.

"I am serving a life sentence for the rape and murder of my girlfriend. A few years back, I spent some time with this prison ministry team and gave my life to Jesus. I have repented of my crimes, I have sought forgiveness from those whom I have hurt. But there is this thing that I can't seek forgiveness for. I killed my girlfriend. It was wrong, but she's gone and cannot forgive me. But then the pastors here tell me that it's done and God has forgiven me. So what I want to know is this: what do you see when you look at me?"

Oh my goodness. Lord. Have. Mercy. Did I mention the tattoos? Did I mention that I was terrified in his presence? Did I mention the big arms and RIP on his neck? What did I see when I looked at him?

Up to this point, I had been sitting on the edge of my seat, back erect, feet planted lightly under me, as if ready to bolt like an anxious cat. At hearing his question, the weight of conviction became so heavy in my heart, pushing me back in the chair with an exhaustive exhalation. What did I see when I looked at him? As my body hit the back of the chair, the voice of the Lord began rushing through my ears:

He was made in My image. He's been redeemed by My blood.

He was made in My image and has been redeemed by My blood.

I took in a long, slow, deep breath, as I prayed inwardly, "You said You would give me the words to speak. You said You would tell me what to say. I need You now, as all words fail me."

I sat deep in the chair for what felt like an eternity before I could move my mouth to even form a word. As the words began to approach my tongue, I slowly leaned forward, toward this brother of mine, till my arms were resting on my legs and my sole focus was on his face alone.

I opened my mouth by the grace of the Spirit alone and said, "You call yourself a Christian. I claim the same. You have surrendered your life to the power of Christ. I have done the same. There is no crime you have committed that is any worse than anything I have ever done. In the eyes of God, I am no better nor worse than you. So what do I see when I look at you? I see the blood of Christ covering over my brother, washing you of your sins, making you white as snow. And what I can tell you, with all confidence, is this: by the promise of the Word of God, the power of the Holy Spirit, and the authority of Jesus Christ, You. Are. Forgiven."

Breathe deep. Pause for another eternal moment.

Have you ever seen a soul released? Have you ever seen a burden lifted? Have you ever seen a heart restored? It looks a lot like a grown man, covered in scary tattooes, with sad eyes full of gory life stories, hanging his head low as a single tear rolls down his life-stained cheek, too ashamed to make eye contact, too humbled to say another word. It looks a lot like a brutal, hardened criminal softening at the simple words of a foreign girl sitting across him.

Ah sweet forgiveness. How quickly and simply you release your beauty to the most undeserving, unsuspecting souls. The very boot that crushes you receives the absolute best that you have to offer. Your essence clings to it, travels with it, becomes part of it, and rubs off on others.

Ah sweet forgiveness. There is no limit to your giving. And it didn't stop there...

And Then It Got Real...Scary

**Continued from yesterday's post**

Coasting on the wave of having seen a soul come to glory only lasted a short while, as God began to whisper gently to my heart. His whisper is so gentle, though the message itself is not always so soft.

"Tell your story."

I'm sorry, what? Maybe You have forgotten where we are, and what I've been through (because You are so forgetful, right?). I argued with God, because that's productive and effective. I was sure that He was wrong, or maybe I just heard Him wrong. But He continued to press.

"Tell your story."

After surrendering to the fact that God's perseverance is much stronger than my own, and with great fear and trembling, I consented to share my testimony with the large group of prisoners. Now, this wasn't just a sweet story about growing up in church and coming to a realization that I needed a Savior. Nope. My story is a bit different. It's laced with a rape when I was 18, which led to years of alcoholism and various drug addictions. If it was out there and could numb my pain, I gave it a go, and then some, until I was completely incapable of being sober and absolutely loathed who I had become. Addictions like that will lead a person to do things that she never thought she would ever even consider, let alone be capable of doing. And yet she did them. I did them. Yep, this was the story that I got to share with that large group of prisoners, locked up for every crime under the sun, including what I had done, and what had been done to me.

When the large group time finished and everyone dispersed into their small groups, my group of one became a group of 8 men, unknown to me up to that point. They had questions for me. They had questions about how I felt about being raped. WHAT? Seriously? And over the course of the conversation that ensued, I discovered that every single one of them had been incarcerated for rape. They had been the cause of such deep pain and humiliation to someone else. They had questions, and so they asked, and I did my best to not vomit on them, or melt down in a puddle of tears.

By the time I left that day, I was pretty sure that I couldn't return. I was pretty sure that God had made a mistake, or that I had misunderstood Him and I had made a tremendous mistake. How could I have been so transparent? How could I have been so naive as to tell my story? I was so angry, so disgusted by what I had just experienced. I felt like all that I had buried for years under alcohol, drugs, and then church life, had just been resurfaced and was laid bare for all the world to see. All my wounds, all my hurts, all my disappointments and failures had just been violently ripped open into a gaping wound for these people, these prisoners, these criminals to see.

As I sat weeping on the floor that night, I could hear that whisper yet again.

"Go back."

Hmmm, maybe You missed what happened today. Maybe you missed the questions they were asking me. Maybe You missed the pain I was in at this moment. Maybe you missed the uncontrollable tears that have been pouring down for the past several hours. I think that I will not be going back.

"Go back. My work has just begun."

Oh, mercy. Just begun, really? That means it could get a lot worse before it gets any better.

On some level, it did get worse. But on other levels, it got so much better. Forgiveness was about to happen....

Day 2, Cruising Along

Within the realm of eating, I have become something I do not like. I snack in the dark, indulging ridiculous cravings from sweets and carbs, filling the gut with that which cannot fulfill me, but simply fill me for a short while. For a moment it leaves me feeling satisfied, only to require more the next time a pang raises its ugly head.

It reminds me of the Samaritan woman whom Jesus met at the well in the town of Sychar. Jesus was sitting by the well when the woman came to draw water. Jesus asked the woman to give him a drink of that water, as he was tired from the journey.

The woman replied, "You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?" (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.)

Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water."

"Sir," the woman said, "you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his flocks and herds?"

Jesus answered, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him, will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will be come in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

I snack in the dark to hide what I know I should not be doing. I snack in the dark, as if doing in the dark will nullify the action, but it only leaves me wanting more. It leaves me thirsty.

We are called to walk in the Light in all things. In every aspect of our lives, we are called to walk in the Light. It takes away all reasons for non-believers to mock us and mock our God. We are called to walk with integrity and discipline, free from our sins by the mighty blood of Jesus Christ. We are called to be exposed, unafraid, unashamed. Because when we expose our brokenness, we are able to begin healing.

I should not need to sneak around when I am walking in obedience to God. I should not feel guilty or ashamed when I am properly fueling and taking care of this temple that has been entrusted to me, for my good and for His glory.

We are called to walk in the Light, and seek after the Living Water, that which quenches the thirst and leaves us wanting no more.

No more snacking in the dark. This stronghold will be broken.