Last week, I left my job at J. Alexander's. I did so primarily because gas was entirely too expensive to drive 30 minutes a day from the east side to the west side of town. My secondary reason was the MAM magazine. I want to donate all of my time to ministry while I am blessed with the opportunity to do so. I was asked on Thursday to housesit for The Welker family, and to be responsible for children's ministry at The Keeill while they were out of town. Monday through Wednesday had been the most stressful, weary days of my life. Anxiety and depression cloaked itself around my neck and I was sinking back down into habits that I could not live a life of abundance with. After a great amount of prayer, I decided to crush one of my biggest idols and begin the process of starving my anorexia to death. I got up the courage to obliterate my bathroom scale by sending it sailing over the side of The Anchor's second story fire escape ledge. When it didn't shatter into a thousand pieces like I'd hoped, I pried it open, and ripped apart its insides. The only piece of the scale I kept was the face--to remind me that I had come face to face with the enemy, and with the power of Christ in me strangled him to death.
Later that week, I made my way out to Fairview with heavy preconceived notions about what I was about to face: a weekend in the woods with no connection to the outside world. Sounded like Northern Michigan to me. As I headed West the trees began to haunt me. Not only was I reminded of the gut wrenching memories of Percy Warner Park, but also the way his chest smelled as I curled up with him in the cool sheets of a Michigan summer. The backroads had become a staple for his name, and I feared that walking into a situation like that, completely alone with no one to sit and chat with me would be the worst thing for me.
On Thursday around 11 p.m. I arrived at The Welker's. The house smelled somewhat like the cabin, but its overwhelming sense of home took me by surprise. I was invited in by the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen in my life. There were flowers left all over the house: ones from the garden, wild ones, unruly ones, proper ones, graceful ones, and daring ones. I was immediately overcome by a sense of peace I have never experienced in my entire life. The spirit of God was so perfect in that house, I was sure I had found my haven.
The majority of my days were spent re-reading William P. Young's "The Shack." I reconnected with Papa in very real ways, Sarayu, and Jesus. In-fact, I felt much like Mack: getting to know the trinity for the first time in a very tangible way. The first line of the book goes something like this:
"Who wouldn't be skeptical when a man says he's spent an entire weekend with God? And in a shack no less? And this was the shack [paraphrasing]." The Lord gave me the gift of a free vacation that I could spend sitting on the porch listening to the cool Tennessee rain reconnecting with my creator. I finally understand what it means to be a daughter of God and how Christ loves me. That was something I didn't understand before. I also learned a great deal about myself.
I think I was born to live in the country--no internet, no cable...just me, with a book and a cup of coffee listening to the rain. I found my sacred haven. My hope is to move out to Fairview after I graduate. I used to believe having many things would satiate me...that traveling much, attaining a degree, achieving a weight goal, buying a miracle pore cream would relieve my spirit. I made it so complicated when it was really quite simple. What I needed was stillness, and the presence of Jesus. For the longest time I searched for things: boys to date, clothes to wear, friends, social status, educational avenues...you name it. And I was a shopaholic. Now, I'm drowning in the excess of all the things I bought to heal a wound that was caused by having too much. I want very little for my life. I want to own a house out in the country...and I want my own dog. I don't wish for marriage. I don't wish for fame. I don't even wish for canvases or notebooks to write poetry in. I just want to live in my sanctuary. This weekend, I found it. I got to God in an unexpected place.
Praise His name.
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