Can I be real with y’all? I mean I’m always real with y’all, but I just want to show you something raw. I love writing these blogs, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes I just have so much on my heart and it starts to burn, or I try to touch on a subject that unexpectedly opens a wound I did not know I had and I’ll sit in prayer for hours over the course of weeks thinking of how to put into words what the Lord is putting on my heart, only to have a blank paper or something written up that I decide to never publish. It’s a humbling reminder of the intimate relationship I am called to have with the Father. He makes it so clear to my heart that He loves me, and the things He gives me in prayer are for me. My heart is like a little garden that He tends, and I love to trim a few roses for y’all, but the entire garden is not mine to give. Now, sometimes I am able to share parts of my prayer with y’all which is great, and other times not. It’s not that these things are too sensitive or private, but rather I have realized that the Father sometimes leaves me clueless as to what I should write because He knows that my human heart is fragile. If I gave everything between Him and me away that wouldn’t be love. That would be use. That would be like an unchaste love, where everything given is shared for pleasure. I don’t write blogs for pleasure, nor does the Father speak to me just so I can write blogs for His pleasure.
I can’t imagine the overwhelming identity crisis I would have if the Father did not constantly remind my heart of this truth. If I were to root my identity in walking across America, writing blogs, or writing books, even if it was all for Him, my heart would be so empty and broken. My garden would be a bare patch of dirt. I would be incapable of coming to the Father when I need His mercy, and I would not be able to look at my past self and find her worthy of the Father’s love. I say this, yet sometimes I really struggle with it. I struggle to see how the Father loves me as I am, and I think we all do and will continue to. That’s why I know I’m just as desperate and broken as the worst sinner. I need God. All the time, good moments and bad, I need Him. I need His love and to be constantly reminded that His love is for me. He does not love me for your sake, He loves me for my own sake. And the same goes for you. But our hearts struggle with a love that pure; our hearts just can’t comprehend the depth and magnitude of a love so great.
Thankfully we don’t have to explain it, we just have to receive it. We need only to be still and let God be God. Like the thief crucified next to Christ who recognized Him as the Messiah, we need to let Jesus gaze upon our face. We need to give Him permission to remember who we are. So often we want the bad parts of us to be forgotten, or certain parts of us to disappear, but God desires our entirety, because He loves us. He really truly loves us and that sounds so cliché, but the reality is we forget that. And when we forget that, we forget who we are. It’s just like the scene in The Lion King, where Mufassa appears to Simba and says, “My son, you have forgotten me.” And Simba denies it, but Mufassa says, “You have forgotten who you are and so have forgotten me.” Because Simba has forgotten his sonship, he has left behind his inheritance. And why did he do all that? Because he feels that the wrong he has done deemed him no longer worthy to be king, no longer worthy to be loved.
We have this same wound. We can do all the good we want, live life like we have no worries, but the Father knows. The Father notices that you’ve withdrawn yourself. Now it’s time we let love draw us home. Sorry, Nala is not gonna come for you this time, but a love much more deep and pure. Sometimes a fear of not being able to explain ourselves or have an excuse holds us back from that and that’s why I want to close with one story to paint a better image.
Before I even started writing this blog Jesus asked me what moment in your life painted a clear picture of who a good father is? And I quickly knew that exact moment. I was probably about 4 years old. My Dad was kicked back in his recliner, and I laid pressed against his chest. I was in a funk, couldn’t tell you why. I wasn’t sleeping, but I might as well could have been. I didn’t join my dad in watching TV, I just laid there. I remember feeling safe in his arms. I remember over the course of an hour laying there as the neighbor boy came and knocked three different times asking if I would come out and play. I refused and my dad would gently tell him “Maybe later Dallas, Mikayla just doesn’t want to play right now. I did not have a rhyme or reason to just lay there, I just knew I was upset, but being held is all that I remember and that it felt good. My dad held me not because I deserved it, but because he loved me. He didn’t ask me a million questions or complain that his arm was going numb or that he was getting hot. No, he just held me and loved me just as I was. He vouched for me to the neighbor boy so that I didn’t have to explain the hurt I didn’t have words for. The fact that I can’t even remember why I was in such a funk tells me that most of the reason I continued to sit there with my dad is because I just wanted to be loved; to just be still and receive a love so pure and innocent. It’s a scene I often return to in prayer because it’s a moment of my life that spoke so much truth into my heart. My hope is that you have a similar moment that you can pray with, a moment where you felt loved and protected. Because it’s moments like these that remind us who we are. We are sons and daughters of the one true King, and we are loved more than we could ever know.
Link above will take you to my book