Last year it felt like twenty-five percent of my life was lived en route, and I’m realizing I prefer it that way. In this season of preparation before my life becomes semi-nomadic once more, I’m learning how deeply freedom is a necessity if these lungs are to function properly. As the plane accelerates and my ears pop; as the wind tosses me as in a cradle and the home I’ve known shrinks below me, clouds break to reveal blues and greens of the sea. Here, above the bubble of life, somewhere in between lands, is where I am most content. Ink flowing from my fingers, surrounded solely by strangers; here I can commune more readily with the Lord and think most clearly. The light is blinding, the air deafening, and all is at peace. The clouds that are white now turn pink in the horizon. With the ocean spread out before me, the world suddenly feels audaciously large, and I, microscopically small. The burden of earth’s battle below seems suddenly lighter in view of creation’s vastness.
Still, we are children of war. Whether born in the trenches, the barracks, or the home-front, we have all experienced this spiritual reality. Be it through cutting chains or the gore of pillaging fire, we know what it is like to feel a captive of the enemy. Perhaps you are still there, fighting to be free but feeling your feet can’t escape the shackles.
Darling, what is your straight-jacket? Where do your ashes lie? Please, would you let Him free you? From the heights of communion with our Creator, we are taught to see beyond the struggle into the glory He’s woven. With a single word, He can and will steal you away to the place of heavenly peace. Held in His arms, the arms untouchable by the enemy, we are carried back to the secret skies above the smoke of battle where eternal truth once again reigns.
And as the clouds break, redemption’s kiss finds you safe and secure in the Victor’s embrace.