February 25, 2012
I pray. I pray often. And for years I’ve pictured myself sitting at the foot of a throne, pouring my heart out to a sweet Jesus. One who hears me, who knows me, who cares for me. And my burdens flow out, one word at a time, leaving a pool at my Savior’s feet.
I walk away.
And take all my baggage with me. I scoop it up, stuff it back in and lumber away, heavy, weak, unsteady.
Where’s the freedom? Where’s the tender mercy of relief?
I have chosen for too long to bear the weight. I’m unable to carry on.
So instead of staying at his feet and crying over my weakness, unhappiness, discontent, worries, feeling that I have to remain there, hovering with my anxiety and afflictions in order to remind Him that I need him, I’m choosing to walk away with out the yoke of the world hanging on my shoulders.
He is capable of carrying every hurt, catching each tear, hearing each cry. So I choose freedom. I choose to retrain my heart to let go. I choose to live in his mercy and goodness.
I choose to see glory and joy and freedom.