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Photo by Laura Krämer

It only took five days.

Five days after posting A Healed Hallelujah for her to show up again.

Not only was her visit a complete surprise, I was caught off guard by what she brought with her.

She heaped old memories, old junk, old baggage, old thoughts into my heart and mind…yeah, it was the old cover girl—the broken me.

To be fair, five days is quite a long stretch; usually it’s within the first 24 hours after my public displays of God’s healing in my life that I get hit with cruddy stuff the enemy hurls at me. So I should be grateful…but mostly I’m annoyed with myself. I should have spent more time in super-Christian-charged-warrior-prayer-time to ward off the schemes of the enemy…then again wasn’t it Him who taught me to stop “should-ing” on myself and just abide in Him? {careful saying that “s” word out loud…}

*sigh*

Not only did she show up and bring all that crud with her…she dared to show up in my safe house. My sanctuary. My church.

On Sunday morning—during worship.

How. Dare. She.

It might just be me, but more often than not it is within the walls of my safe house where my freedom is threatened. How can this be? Because it is in this very sanctuary I find myself most vulnerable, ready and ripe to encounter God—and she knows it.

Wait. Stop. This isn’t right.

In all fairness…It’s not her fault—she is but a pawn in this story. She didn’t want to bring me down—she desires the fullness of freedom for me—for us as a whole person. She is after all a part of me.

It was him, the age old villain of my story (and yours) who, with just a glance, escorted her down the aisle of pews to shackle her broken heart to mine. She knows my brokenness more than anyone—and he forced her to whisper old broken things into my spirit. And I began to believe them.

You haven’t changed.

Just look at you. You are still an ugly, broken girl. You think you can stand here and worship your Jesus with all you have done…or ever thought of doing. Everyone can see you. They know. They see. They judge. You will always be broken.

You will never be whole. Never free. Never healed.

Never.

What could I do? I stood there and held my face in my hands—physically trying to rub the thoughts out of my head all the while calling on the name of Jesus. I stood there in the midst of a crowd, yet felt alone and defeated. None of the spiritual “tricks” worked. I couldn’t even will myself to worship—or at least mumble the words…I was that paralyzed. Nothing worked. No prayer. No positive thinking. No nothing. I just stood there getting blasted by the unseen as chains strangled my heart leaving me breathless.

Oh God…what kind of healed hallelujah was my life singing now? I was just as broken as ever. What kind of hallelujah indeed. Not the one I hoped to sing…

And where was Jesus? Honestly, I don’t know. I do know a whole crowd of people were singing to Him. To them He was on His throne. To me…well, He must have been hanging on that bloody cross taking on all my sin and brokenness again.

Again?

Oh wait. He did that already. Once was enough. He need not do it again.

But if He did it once…and once was enough. Where’s the freedom? Where’s my freedom? Where’s my healed hallelujah?

I stood there staring down at my bare toes in sandals as I rubbed the thoughts out of my head, wondering when it was all going to end…and then something—Someone whooshed over me. Take a step. Be brave.

And then I knew. To live a healed hallelujah is to live brave. And to live brave is always, always tied with vulnerability.

And somehow I knew innately what I needed to do. To be healed I must be brave—I needed to physically step away from her—no, we needed to step away from him…and lean into Jesus. Jesus with flesh on.

I turned slowly, now facing the back of the sanctuary—where all eyes could see right into me. I stepped closer to my husband now toe to toe with him. To be brave I must be vulnerable—this was my vulnerable moment—to trust this man to be my Jesus with flesh on. He stood there singing, completely unaware of the battle in my mind and heart.

I leaned in close to be heard above the music.

“I’m not okay.”

I had no other words…and he asked for no explanation. I leaned in, buried my face in his chest, his arms came around me—and held me. Resting in his arms and feeling the vibrations of his worshiping voice came up out of him—and somehow resonated deep into my own spirit. And I could breathe again.

I was finally safe. I was free.

Sometimes all I (and you) need is a touch. A real touch. A human touch. A healthy touch. It’s the kind of touch that snaps us awake from the hypnotic trance old mindsets can lock us into.

So…where was Jesus that day?

Are you ready to know the scandalous truth? He was with me. He wrapped Himself around my husband…and held me. And He still is.

~

On the journey with you friend…~L

~

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What better way to live out a Healed Hallelujah than to live brave in community. Join me and 144 others who choose to Live Brave, Not Broken: A 40 Day movement founded by my dear friend, Lesley Glenn, whose fighting stage 4 cancer. Learn more by joining the Facebook group here or following the Live Brave blog here. It will change your life. Come…let’s journey together.

Here or somewhere…be real. Share your journey.

 

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