As these words are typed, they are moving, shifting, and evolving. They’re taking on new form as they are transferred from thoughts that were once beautifully scripted under low light and permanently placed on smooth, beige parchment in a thick, ebony hue, and are now morphing into electronic text that is projected onto this screen, carried by the familiar clicking of matte black keys.
At their birth, each word was not hastily nor sloppily scrawled across a page. Rather, each letter, carefully and slowly formed, held value of its’ own. Much like the rust-red perpendicular lines that covered the dilapidated, vintage maps I had viewed so often on the walls of my grandfather’s spare room, the words are meaningless when left solitary, but crucial when pieced together: resulting in no greater avail than to guide my thoughts along the haphazard, golden thread of reverie in my mind.
These words are not my own, yet are mere reflections of what my heart beats for — as is with any word that my hands might script. They have been whispered to my soul in the blackness of night, screamed in the peachy-lilac awakening of the dawn, and consistently repeated in the solitude of the wilderness. “Beautiful. Loved. Free.”
These words gallivant far beyond the cognitively detached reading of transcendent text from an ancient, truthful Book. Fresh words spoken by my Abba, they turn my thoughts to consider virtue, and leave me with a zealous eccentricity for all that is life. Unaided by footnotes or explanatory citations, the words stand for themselves — raw, vulnerable, and silently screaming a testament to their meaning.
A sensation of uninhibited disenthrallment is now coursing through my veins — floating, sliding, maneuvering. It strategically travels from my heart to my mind, my mind to my heart, and my heart to my fingertips — simultaneously arousing the butterflies that once slept dormant in the pit of my core. As a souvenir, a familiar feeling of childlike freedom is left behind, dissipating all fear — forever. And so it is — the cycle remains. Unstoppable, yet vital. Newness of life is sparked with each breath, each thought, each moment — shimmering, glowing, reviving.
These words are alive, carrying a weight much deeper than any complex compilation of pronouns, phrases, or punctuation could possibly express — conveying a pulsating, rhythmic melody — an enchanting tune that is only audible those who are truly listening. The fragmented and the fixed. The tame and the tumultuous. The careful and the carefree. The peaceful and the poignant. In seasons past, I have taken part in each and every one of these roles on this journey through life, portraying both positive and negative aspects of the fullness of my humanity. Nevertheless, I continually experience the manifest grace and unconditional love of my Abba, of which I have been redeemed.
And for that, I am forever His — sealed, portioned, and set-apart. Moldable, useful, and willing — carved and shaped to be a container of His everlasting glory. At this moment, He is exhaling peace over my soul — a tranquility that goes beyond all that is known, or is unknown. He is tending the soil of my heart, unearthing what it truly means to “be still and know that He is God.” To “be still and know.” To “be still.” To simply, “be.”
Freedom has become a constant state of being, and no longer is a second thought given to former entanglements that once suppressed my soul. I have been reverted to a beautiful existence where childlike faith infuses every fiber of my being, gushing and bubbling over, effecting every action I take. I live to love, and love to live — in the fullness of all that it entails.
This freedom is not to be bottled and placed on a shelf to collect the dust of unattainable perfection, or to be equated to fireflies trapped in a mason-jar, for curious observation and discussion. Rather, it is to be delighted in, and shared relationally among each soul I come into contact with. For as it is written, “who the Son sets free, shall be free, indeed.”
As these words are being typed, my ears are relishing in a symphony composed by the Ultimate Creator, put on exhibition by all of creation: a Springtime thunderstorm. Earlier in the evening, I relinquished all thought of civility, and danced in the rain — for hours. With my face turned upward and palms outstretched at my sides, I spun, Jumped. Sprinted. Laughed. Water spilled over every inch of my body — renewing and rejuvenating — both metaphorically and literally. Electric beams of light fiercely cracked open the periwinkle sky, sending spidery illuminations from one end of the horizon line to the other, with a thunderous, magnificent roar — reminding me, yet again, of the undeniable, incomprehensible power of my Lord. In this moment, I communed with Him. I was free. I was fulfilled. I fell in love — for the millionth time.
In quietness and rest, extravagance and noise, laughter and tears — I have learned the meaning of being content. Let it be known. Let. It. Be.