My kids are playing/screaming outside, my niece is sleeping in a pack-n-play in my closet, and a little girl is 31.5 weeks grown in my body.
I’m sitting in my half-decorated living room, lamp on the floor, final setup still undecided (I will rearrange many more times before I feel settled, this I know).
I just paused the music coming from the speaker on our kitchen counter. I dusted it a minute ago, and I feel insanely accomplished. Dusted the speaker, wiped down the fridge, plopped down in this brown leather chair. Wonder Woman has nothing on me.
Here I sit, thinking about your heart, your soul, the state of your things. You’re in the thick-of-it, too, maybe even in the thicker-of-it right now. Maybe the cool air on your cheeks and the sounds of your life are a sweet playlist turning your heart toward gratefulness, but maybe not. Maybe you’re busy, bone-weary, not sure what it would take to keep up. Maybe you’re making it, but making it feels just as it sounds — nothing sinking deep into your soul these days, life happening to you.
Maybe you look at other women and see their passion and their gifts and their connectedness, and there’s something inside that aches a little, wishing you felt free enough to live that way. Maybe you want to run in your own way, with abandonment, toward being the woman God made you to be, unique and beautiful, but you don’t feel enough. You don’t think that kind of thing is for you.
I’m thinking about you today, and I’m praying. I’m praying that you would look up, not around. That you would open the Word with hope and expectation. That you would shake off the things the world has said about you, the secret things you worry could actually be true if somebody saw you in your whole, raw form. That you would start to pay attention to what your Father who created you intentionally and loves you wholly says about you. That you would give yourself a little space to examine how specifically and creatively you are made, with your gifts and your talents and your limits and the space that you, only you, have been given right now, today. And I pray that you would step into freedom, intentionally leaving behind all of the things that don’t matter, the comparison that wants to bind up your feet and keep you stuck, the guilt and shame that never ever ever come from the Father, for he is not the author of those things (yes and amen). I pray that you would shake off the things that bind you by choosing where you will fix your eyes and also where you won’t.
I pray that as you walk in freedom, as you fight for truth to win a banner over your soul, as you allow yourself to learn your unique shape and place, that you will become a woman who speaks and lives the truth in love. This is not a condemning voice you have — its one that knows a taste of freedom and can’t help but share it with the women, men, and children around her. I pray that your voice will bring life, that your story of brokenness and redemption (for our Father is the author of that) will allow you to set others free.