[Sitting
on a train; coffee on my breath; hope in my heart]
I live in
shades of gray, but what I know to be true is this: freedom is only found in my
Maker. Freedom isn’t in broken me, nor is it in you [he or she, him or her].
I’ve sought this freedom here and there, near and far; time and time again I
confuse Freedom with all things fleeting and flaky and false, and this pursuit
of freedom in all things other than my Maker ends up becoming a burden—enslaving
myself to things that never deliver what I so desperately long for.
[But too often these truths get stuck in my head and
never make it to the heart]
Often,
[unpredictably] my mind travels back to what was & I sift through the soil in which this heart of mine was
planted—you know, those valleys in your story that are saturated with more
paradoxes than most—of pain, heartache, laughter, salty tears, toothy
smiles—and you accept that you don’t fully understand why it happened but
you’re thankful for it, anyway—or at least thankful for the valleys on the days
when the sun is shining and the wind is at your back and everything seems well
in the world on the other side of things.
The
pursuit of Freedom has been a theme in my life, and I think it’s safe to assume
that it’s been a theme in yours, as well; most likely taking on different
shapes and colors in different seasons.
You, my
dear friends, were created to be free.
[pursue it confidently]
