Last night was so powerful. I am still feeling the joy. Broken chains, stripped mask dancing in freedom 💃 A group of young professionals, men and women, weeping and hugging and tearing pieces of paper. What happened?
Forest and I are taking a course called Freedom Session where we are learning how to deal with our wounds and failures in a healthy way and not be trapped by our past.
The drawing above was created by a co-Freedom sessioner on the island. And this is how I feel.
Last night we talked about letters. Letters spoken over us by ourselves and others. Letters like NGE – not good enough; U- unwanted, unloved; F- failure; S-shame; V-victim; P-pervert; DG-damaged goods; D-despair and the list goes on….
All of us present carried different letters. “You can’t act differently from what you believe about yourself” the speaker declared.
One of my letters was victim. I can honestly say that I have been a victim of crime. Not just the assault but repeated house burglaries as a child, one time when we were sleeping, that caused nightmares for years. It was appropriate to be angry and seek justice and help in healing. I got free counselling from Victim’s services which was a huge gift and there are books and resources that I continue to benefit from.
But there is a difference between that and me continuing to wear the label “victim”. Somehow that pushes me down. If I embrace that as my identity rather than something that happened to me, it is hard to be a victor. It is hard to be strong and courageous. Time to let that go.
Another word was failure. Just the other night I had a reoccurring dream about going back and finishing nursing school and redeeming my failure. I woke up in panic.
I have to go to North Island College! I have to show all those instructors that I can do it!
It bugs me. It bugs me that I didn’t achieve at something. But will I let that failure shout louder than all of my victories? I could. That would be pretty miserable though.
So we wrote our letters on a red pieces of paper and one by one shared. I have to say the guys beautifully broke stereotypes with their tears and deep sharing and hugs. I love it when guys are tender hearted. Especially my husband.
The sharing didn’t end with the letters. On a white piece of paper we wrote what God thinks of us.
There is a voice inside that says that I am amazing, fiery, passionate, beautiful, gentle, and loving. There is a part that is in awe of God’s creation: me.
Then there’s the crap, the cracks, the dust, the wounds, the oops, missteps and fears. The second tier belief that I deserve to be lower than anyone else. The fear to face my shortcomings honestly because it takes so much energy to just think about the good things. Yes, I have inflicted pain on others and I have been wounded. I want to explain it all, make it all better and fit it into a nice jigsaw puzzle. A tidy story of perfect justice and fairness. There is no room for grace, especially for me. There is only room for the god that I create. The false image that lets me be in control of the world and manage everything. I let my god give me nice pictures and words but I am the one needs to pay the bill. Not him.
Every morning I wake up as if life is a big test that I am probably going to fail. That is why it has been so hard for me, and puzzling for some people about why it’s so hard, to rest during this pregnancy and not serve in the ways I used to. My value depends on it, my identity, my worth.
All my life I have heard that Jesus died for me so that I can be free but I didn’t want him to. I wanted to take care of it myself and be a good girl.
Last night I let it go. “I have to let Jesus die for me.” Torn papers fall.
This morning I woke up and life was not a test. There was no dangling whip or lightening bolt just waiting for me to screw up so that God could smite me. Just joy, just love, love poured out in abundance. I didn’t jump out of bed to make Forest breakfast. He can master Cheerios pretty well now.
I don’t even feel the usual timidity about writing this blog. What will my stats be? What will people think?
I am Melody Rose, beautiful, cherished, smart, beloved and free.
“Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is….”. boredom? Confusion? Chaos? Condemnation?
No, “freedom”. 2 Corinthians 3:7
If you are interested in freedom Session, it is offered pretty much everywhere,
check out this link: https://freedomsession.com/