“This Is How It Feels to Be Free!”

My beloved readers, I wrote this without polish, and mine was almost a deliberate decision. I’m afraid it might not make terribly much sense, but I felt I had to write it anyway. Make what you can of it, for it is my heart, and relegate the rest to the “unique-posts-I’ve-read” section of your mind. God bless!

And now, my beloved readers, for something entirely detached from anything you’ve read recently on this blog. And–oh!–what joy and delight it gives me to be able to write it!

Today, for this post and in this moment, you don’t need an introduction. There is no need to elaborate on those parts of my life that had hitherto felt as though they were crashing down in heaps, burying beneath the rubble all that I had ever called hope and love and grace. There is no need to discuss the ways in which all the collective Marthas I had ever known were grasping hold of my wrists and attempting to drag me away from my place worshiping at the feet of Jesus–nor, really, is there any need to discuss the myriad ways in which I felt that His assurances about worshipers having chosen “the better part, which shall not be taken away from [them! Mary of Bethany! My heart!]”–no need to state that that quote had provided even me with less solace than at other times.

No, this is to be a piece disconnected from all of that. Instead, let’s focus on a words sketch of sorts.

The two pillows flanking the plush velvet chair-and-a-half provide renewed comfort and have retained their fragrance of newness even two months after I received them. In the next room, Naomi is embarking on a joyful project that fills this once-shriveled heart with exuberance. I am assured in this moment of the safety of all my loved-ones. Awaiting my use whenever I decide to splurge on luxury is a set of crisp, lavender-coloured, fine-linen sheets that always put me in mind of Psalm 139–but that’s another story. Ten minutes currently lie between me and Dennis Jernigan’s music, Communion elements, and the book of Galatians. The soothing hum of the vaporizer–essential in this inhumid moment–will provide gentle background for worship activities, but will inevitably be almost swallowed up in the peace-filled silence that characterizes the rest of the house. From the next room, a new clock will play “Amazing Grace” at the top of the hour, effectively putting me in mind of what the Lord did in my heart last night and the miracle He wrought today in a situation that seemed almost beyond restoration. Today, and tomorrow, and next month, and throughout 2015-1020, if the Lord wills, I will be able to rejoice in the creativity and uniqueness that He has given me, gently detaching myself from those who are “distracted with much serving” and focusing on the “one thing [that is] really needful” without fear. Tomorrow will be a pure, unalloyed celebration such as I have not experienced in months–an amalgomation of a few anniversaries including the day on which I got my guide-dog, the day on which the Lord Jesus taught me anew about His grace, and the day on which He led me gently out of the second-darkest valley through which I had ever walked. There will be festive amounts of lace on skirts and blouses, an elaborate gourmet lunch, a once-in-a-year dish incorporating copious amounts of portabello mushrooms for dinner, the most sentimentally-associated strawberry shortcake for dessert, seldom-indulged-in toys and treats for Natasha, the potential for a beautiful outing, work sessions that we will first sanctify before the Lord, moments of touching others’ lives with the same love I have received… Oh, it will be glorious!

“This is how it feels to be free. / This is what it is to know that I am forgiven!”

ADDENDUM: Unless the plagiarism police come after me, I’m not telling where I found that song because I want every last one of my readers to go and look it up, and that will be easier to do if you just stumble upon it. Besides, the version filling my heart didn’t come about under the direction of one Jim Cymbala (BIG HINT!), but under the leadership of the choir at one of the Victory churches I attended many years ago. Take THAT, Conventionality!

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