“You shut me down. You like the control. You speak to me, like I’m a child. Try to hold it, I know the answer. I can shake it off and you feel threatened by me. I tried to play it nice, but oh, don’t kill my vibe. Oh, don’t break my stride. You love to tear me down, you pick me apart, then build me up like I depend on you. But I throw myself from heights that used to scare me. Guess you’re surprised I’m the puzzle you can’t figure out. Say I’m young, I don’t care. I won’t quit. You’re acting like you hurt me, but I’m not even listening.” – Sigrid, Don’t Kill My Vibe
It’s important to know who our enemies are. But never listen to their voices. Find the truth, renaming what was lost, stolen or destroyed. Find truth, though it cost all you have to find it; get wisdom, get understanding. My father tells me this over and over again. I begin to understand, his nuance at adjusting my hand a mere 1/100th of an angle, to understand his perfect love, and almost break posture,leaning my cheek into caress his hand, as I have grown to adore and greatly appreciate the instruction.
I relish not knowing it all. I relish knowing more than I have in my entire life and still feeling like I am in kindergarten.Thinking I had practiced every step, every thought for hope, every action in love, for his glory and can replay those memories over and over in full joy, despite the failure of missing perfection. The uncertainty in each step gives odd confidence in situations where you have no clue which step will sink you and which will blow you up.
I love how those failures become humbling patches. Somehow the pain of letting the enemy through our guard is replaced by a guard of truth, a patch with the lesson becoming the instruction manual to our very life and above all, love, of whatever remains thriving from the fire, left to uncover beneath the ashes.
I’ve played nice and walked away my entire life. Now, I stand firm, with shield ready, sword in hand, every manual from every fail strapped to the back of my shield for quick reference. Now, today, I allow my father to absolutely uncover me from the ashes. I love how his hands so securely polish, tinker and find spots to rub ever smoother in this process with him. I love the peace that comes from enduring the fire and walking back out alive, remade, renewed, redefined. When I breathe fire, I will roar with all the might and backing of my Father with me, in me and through me. In the whisper of his name, Jesus, I hear the chariots of fire running to my side, ready and prepared to battle with me.
Let no man or woman stand against me who also declares the name of Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord, for their war is not with me. I have learned more often than not, the battle I fight with my flesh and my mind is truly with me. Whatever I find in others is usually always a reflection of unfinished labor, in the unseen world, where the principalities, forces, and authorities play in a very real war, a battle for your soul. It’s heavy stuff, made light by Jesus’ yoke. Taking it up is my only relief, my true comfort and my joy as I continue to push through these labor pains.
***authors note: “My edges don’t look much like blades. But you learn when you try to hold me down with your bare hands.” – KJH, inspiration and photo credit to a fave!