The Lord’s been soothing me, healing my sores through three words. Three words that he won’t let go of. Three words in which he has become a broken record, repeating until I loosen my grip. Until I let the words was over more than my ears, but that seep into all those crevices within me. When I let go, He’ll let go.
Rise above it.
& these words are the response to every question, the conclusion to every sentence, lying at the foot of every sentence, embraced by the warm hands of parenthesis. Lord, they have hurt me intentionally. Father, I don’t have money for Christmas gifts for everyone & bills. Holy Spirit, I feel my patience slipping & I can’t get a grip on my emotions. I feel isolated. Abandoned. I feel beaten down. Hated. Jesus. Abba Father.
Rise above it.
It’s a command left uncoo-ed by the cushion of a pillow.
It’s laying on a cold wooden floor mid-winter hoping for comfort.
It’s the father at the bottom of the highest slide, looking into the eyes of his little girl from the top.
I’m here, at the top & at the bottom. I will catch you.
Just rise above this.
You can’t change how intentional & genuine people proclaim your motives. & I think that is the spot that burns the most. That blistering spot on the back of my foot that has been rubbed raw, a lack in control. They are going to think what they will, & whether they give you a shot or whether they never open the window of opportunity, whether they leave you locked in a dark room, it’s not your call.
You can only be. You can only continually fall back into the arms of your Father, choosing his truth over their opinions of you.
He knows you, love. You rest in His truth.
More than your birthday & more than your favorite color. Deeper than your biggest fear & deeper than you think you know yourself. He knows you. He has your womb form memorized & your heavenly form prepared. He sees you in the most flawless of ways, more clear than your closest friend. He sees you in the image of Christ, unmarred by the world’s grime. He sees the form he intended you to take, who you were created to be. & at this root, here at your core, he adores you, loving you in a way that nobody could exceed, comparing you to the captivating beauty of rubies, loving you in the purest form you can be loved.
So when you have the King of the Universe place his crown of royalty on your head, & place the unrelenting grip of his hand below your elbow to steady your unstable legs on the tightrope, why look down at the crocodiles that snarl from below?
They are under your feet, love.
Their words are powerless.
I know it’s hard, sweet girl. We all have a desire to be liked by everyone, whether you wear a brave face or broken. It hurts when you see the world charge you, for nothing more than the pleasure of knocking you off your feet, but the only way to bind the wounds & heal the hurt is to give it to God, praising him because you can. Because he is always delighted to hear from you. Because he loves to meet your needs & do the impossible.
Keep your eyes on me, love.
Rise above it.
Praise be to the God & Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy & blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons & daughters through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure & will – to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves.
It’s your turn, love. Break the silence. Spill your guts.