So, here I go again. Change.
When I divorced, and CHANGE HAPPENED, I moved to a small house in Brevard. Brevard is a tiny town that borders Pisgah National Forest, a rain forest. My home is downtown, within walking distance of the local coffee cafe and the movie theater. Three things I love to do: walk, drink coffee, and eat movie popcorn while watching movies (nothing scary, though).
I knew in my spirit that I would not be harmed here. This quaint town, and charming house with its azaleas, cherry trees, and Spanish bluebells, was going to be a safe harbor. The Lord knew how bruised and broken I was. I claimed the verse, “A bruised reed he will not break” Matthew 12:20.
I was exhausted.
I’d fought for my marriage for 3 years, and lost that war. I moved from my home of 20 years with no help. I packed, shoved furniture and drove it all an hour and half away, with only my then 18-year-old-son to help. It was raining. It rains a lot in Brevard, something I’ve come to love..
When the last box was unpacked, I collapsed on the bed, and told the Lord, no more. No more trials, no more big things, no more mistresses or divorce attorneys, no more inquiring “friends,” no more pain. Just NO MORE. He heard me. He heard me before I opened my mouth to ask. And, for 2 years (2 years August 1st) I knew I was defended. I knew He had spoken to the universe and said, nothing touches her. Sounds crazy, but it truly was a protected time. A time for healing and quiet and safety in a small house in a small town. But it wasn’t forever. It was for a time.
And, now that time is over, and the time ahead of me is one I have been expecting. I’ve been expecting it my entire life. As in, I always knew this day was coming. No, I’m not dying. At least, not that I’m aware of. This is a different kind of predetermined day.
When my Coastie Son decided to join the military, he went off at 18 scared but excited. About 2 weeks into boot camp, he was reevaluating his choice, and wondering what the heck he’d been thinking. But then, he came to THAT DAY. The day where he could either quit and go home, or get on with the program, and at least try. That day for him was 7 years ago, and his efforts have been rewarded.
That is the kind of day I mean.
It is the day you can no longer avoid yourself.
It is the day you must make a decision.
It is the day you might fail, but you still need to try.
It is the day you’re all in.
It is the day you take a big, scary leap.
It is the day you decide you’re worth it,
It is the day you stop comparing yourself to others, and just do the thing–whatever the thing is.
It is the day your life has been gearing up for.
It is the day you’ve been dreading, but also couldn’t wait for.
It is the day you will find out what you’re made of, but even more, what your God is made of. That’s huge.
It is the day you will need your sword. Your armor. Your will to fight. Your determination. Your courage.
This is not the day for wimps who bury their heads in the sand. This is the day to fight.
I feel I just wrote a bunch of Hallmark slogans.
But slogan or no, it doesn’t change the fact that the day has arrived. I told the Lord this past Sunday, “Let’s do this thing.”
Let’s face the fear that has encapsulated me all my life. Let’s face it together.
So, here I am. A girl with a sword, and a God. Let’s do this thing.
(I’ll post updates on my progress. NOW, if it is your day too, go do the thing.)