But only for Grace

Seven years ago this month, I started a journey of Grace. I was hesitant to name the blog “The Adventure of Grace,” but I needed it to be a journey of grace. I had none for myself, only criticism. This is a little glimpse of what it looked like.

From Grace to Grace

Today feels like unraveling. 
Unwinding, loosening, 
a fragmenting of the structure of yesterday.
Yesterday too tight, too hard, too much
but just enough tension to feel breathing. 
Hold on, hold it together, take a deep breath
more, and more, and more breath till it breaks. 
Can't hold it together anymore.
Hide.
Then I'm searching for something, anything 
to take a deeper breath, just try harder, do more.

Let go, they say, let the striving fall away
and the stress melts into anywhere but here. 
Just be, and relax, be yourself and no one else. 
But don’t they know it's the grasping binding
that keeps me together, keeps things tidy, and okay? 

One more breath and I can’t breathe, 
the ever-tightening sutures of self-holding
are relentless, ever closing.
I have to cut myself loose, 
I don’t want to be stuck forever somewhere in my mind
but loose means less pressure, 
and what if I disappear? I can't do the storm.
Here comes another storm; 
but didn't Jesus walk on water in this? 

What if He did?
Grace? 
What if I
float?
Instead of sink? 
Without the tension
or the barbed wire
the pressure, 
Am I breathing?
Am I drowning? 
There is peace. 
I can’t tell, 
Is it real if it isn’t wrestled? 

Rain pours again, the pause is over,
I crave the pressure and the structure again.
More familiar than freedom, 
the tension and the pain of wondering
"too much? not enough? Too much of me?" 
And I sink, just like Peter to the depths.

It is normal, so normal, back and forth
A little walking, a little sinking...
and Jesus where are you? 
Take the storm, the mess. 

I breathe again.
Like living on earth, 
but without the tension
I can breathe
easy, thinking
free and clear. 
Jesus is peace,
justice, safety.
What storm?

The storm behind me wails.

Will anyone hold me accountable here? 
Where is the judgment that kept me safe? 
Kept me close-
I gave it to Him.
but I am close.
Close to a presence.
A breath of life-giving presence.
The breath here
gives life.
Rest.
It’s clear and inviting, 
somehow calming
restful. 

In the storm, restful? 

but how do I let go, 
of the old ways, the old traps?
without floating, getting lost?

Deep breaths and my feet
slowly touch the ground.
Not the water, but the sand, 
Not the sand, but the rock. 
Not heavy, but light
grounded, resting. 
Safe, warm, and still in the storm.

A ray of sun breaks
I grab it.
I grab without the structure, 
and the screaming, and the overwhelming. 
The what if, and if not, and too much, 

Light holds space. 
A Holy pause.
Him. 

What if I fail, and everything falls away,
and I go back? I can't go back.

What if, I don’t?

What if, I can breathe and be fully alive, 
and hear hope, and do good, and fully surprise
everywhere that I go, with a smile and “hello” that
I actually mean. What if I can see them, the way I feel seen?

Would joy fuel the things I have secreted away
Where the wild things live, hopes that have been hidden,
and have never had say or been let out to dream,
never planted to grow, just taunted.

Where the work is rooted in passion, I must and I will
because what I have and what I know is a key to a door
that belongs to someone else, I have never met. 
Someone who is ready to step out of the bindings of 
"I am too much not enough"
"I don’t have anything good, I’m a burden, and unloved." 

What if the breath that I breathe, 
and the dreams that I dream
are the keys to changing everything? 

The keys to the kingdom, that are not ours to give,
the ones that hold power, and His grace by His will

The shackles they unlock, are not locked truly at all
The chains were broken the moment He spoke, 
“It is done” 
The shackles are illusions, but our shame-filled eyes see
no way out, no way up, and no way forward for dreaming. 

His grace covers all, His still voice still corrects
If I trust Him with sin, can’t I trust Him with that? 

If I’m seeking, and waiting, won’t I hear when He calls? 

Do I have to be bound and hold breath,
be afraid of myself? 
When I need to be strong won’t He provide all the strength, 
and when I need to cry out— won’t He be there the same way?

What responsibility have I taken, that was not mine to take
shoes much too big for me, and too heavy, unyielding. 
Weights that I carry with me when I try to swim.

It’s not my weight to hold, if I’m too much or too little
He is far more compassionate, and capable, and willing 
to hold me close, and set me straight— 

Wouldn’t I rather, sit alone at His feet, or start an adventure? 
It’s not mine to bind up, to torture and torment 
In the name of “true love,” When the cross was the benchmark.

Floating seems scary, 
the shadows promise it is, 
but the air is as sweet as manna,
and just as consistent in His hands.
Grace.