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Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. -1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

So why do I pray?

It was first comfort that I felt when I ran to the Lord. My heart yearned for the safety only He could provide, so I took a deep breath before screaming how much I need Him. In His presence, I knew that I felt joy in the midst of this extensive grief. I didn’t expect to go this way, but His path pushed my feet along this nurturing of long-suffering fruit.

It felt like everything was collapsing around me, and yet, God held me steady as my intention for life melted away. He told me about Egypt and showed me the space He told me to leave. I didn’t have a way, but I wasn’t responsible for that. I didn’t even realize that I was still in Egypt; in fact, I didn’t understand the way my mind stayed in the same places that I pretended I left. Pride told me I wasn’t pretending. God revealed liberation with keys.

Key #1: Stop denying the reality of your truth to appease those who ensure you remain a victim.

In clouds of PTSD fog and heavy-handed despair, I rushed quickly to dismiss reality as misunderstandings until it reared its head and sped up to crash. Truth-suppression loosened my grip on reality, while simultaneously telling me to stop breaking myself into pieces in order to perceive love when its opposite is present. No one wants to hear how their loved ones didn’t love them- or loved them transactionally for pleasures induced by woes. Yet this pill must be swallowed.

Liability. Burden. Draining. Costly. Crazy.

Adjectives I knew I shouldn’t embrace though those around me nodded in agreement with its messaging. I paused to pray and asked God to show me what He saw in me instead.

Survivor. Gracious. Resilient. Beautiful. Healing.

I sighed in relief and shock. Two different stories, and only one of the sources is my creator. I navigated the grief of wanting those around me to see me the same way God did. To see me and acknowledge that they saw what occurred to create the behaviors that “fit” their labels. Chronic illness or chronic abuse? I prayed thoroughly to forgive with newfound radical honesty. Honesty that didn’t include self-betrayal, just as much as it didn’t include bitterness.

Truthfully, I wanted to create to express. Express to explain. Explain to divert. Divert to save (myself, my image, my relationships, and/or my fragile security). God called it pride and removed the veil that sat snuggly on my head. I won’t fight for that to remain. I sighed and released. God took that as opportunity to give me another key.

Key #2: God isn’t holding anything against me, He wants me to lean deeper into Him.

For some reason, this key made me feel as though I needed to violently shake. Perhaps, I needed to shake off shame that I was indoctrinated to guard closely as a way to oversee my behaviors. It never really healed the root, it only posed as a prison guard, locking me away in a castle far away. I questioned why I waited so long to accept this. Perhaps, I thought that in order for this key to be proven, I must be in the arms of my knight in shining armor. Yet, here I am alone…God pointing to the key and asking if I want to be free.

Free. It sounded nice and familiar, yet scary and distant. Free was promised while isolation was required. I was so used to being abandoned and clinged on desperately to be heard in order for them to choose to stay, when they never chose me to begin with. Yet, here I am alone… God pointing to the key and asking if I want to be free. His liberation required me to be the one that walked away from it all. Leaving Egypt without complaint. Moving from my father’s land without the company of Lot. Showing up alone, walking alone, moving forward alone, and letting God handle me alone. There was no other choice but to accept. There was no option to look back or reach back or try to text back what I was never meant to experience as my life’s finality. I kept trying to plant and spread roots… in soil that threatened my life. I stayed because I normalized evil intent. I stayed because I blamed myself for its existence.

Hands to the sky, I reached up towards my Heavenly Father who knew every scar. He didn’t rush to blame or condemn. No, He opened His arms and revealed His intent to heal. I wasn’t used to this. My eyes rushed around the words on His page, my ears begging for repetition, my mind requiring more evidence… not in His capability, but of my worthiness. Though I am a filthy rag, why does He continue to desire me? Why does He still impart dreams knowing what the community has to say about me and my cluttered mind. Full of stories that make me bleed.

Key #3: God is the source of hope, strength, joy, and new beginnings.

Even in the downward spiral, He placed His hands on my chin to lift my eyes back up to the sky. Intimacy and closeness…understanding of my broken heart and contrite spirit. They say this and You say that, and I believe You while they bully me Lord. It’s as if they wanted me to do their bidding and take myself out of this story. The joy You maintained with consistent kindling of its flame reminded me of Your plan of liberation. You helped me get up. You helped me speak. You helped me breathe. You helped me be.

My writings turned into prayers. Conversations revolved around Your presence, even when I was begging to be liberated in the face of my oppressors. My hands forever outstretched to the sky, as clouds and stars enter and exit. Color changing. Weather dependent. Yet, the sky still held enough space for me to reach. Not for money, not for fame, but for You God.