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Where Freedom Dances

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God’s Thought To Me

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm then and do not let yourself be burdened with a yoke of slavery (Galatians 5:1, NIV).

 The Freedom of Belonging

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When I belonged to all my yesterdays, my life was clouded with impenetrable, pitch black darkness. I walked in tandem with the phantom of sorrow … hand-in-hand with the lonely pain of abuse.

Condemnation relentlessly mocked me without repose and Rejection beguiled me with venomous prattle … pretending to be my mother … my only friend.

I was clad in filthy shadows of dirt and despair while its tentacles entangled me with its terrifying colors of deceit.

Lies were the only songs my ears could hear and hatred the only eulogy my mind could comprehend.

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Slowly but with such well-trained precision, the forces of evil cunningly smothered me into a lifeless existence.

My surroundings shrieked with the wails of mocking misery… there where the gibbous moon slyly sang of destruction and terrifying bolts of lightning composed the fortissimo.

I was forced to sing the allegro of loneliness with a grimace, only to accentuate my alleged hideousness and evinced my repulsive existence.

My heart was kidnapped and my mind abducted by the cruel composer whose death rock only belched hatred and reeked of putrid decay.

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Yet, the evil conductor of the orchestra of horror forced me to endure the torture of the screeching music with a smile, pretending my delight.

The cruel lyrics of his compositions told my story … a story of being the only mistake God ever created … a faulty slip of His mind … an unwanted afterthought.

The andante was slowly killing me so softly, annihilating my last tincture of hope as the last falsetto cried and wailed with terrified loneliness.

The King of evil convinced me that the fetters of his dungeons of death were the only habitat for the likes of me … the place where religious vultures feasted on human carrion.

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Yet, the Eternal Light, the Living Word, the Way, the Truth and the Life who already overcame the evil of the one who once owned the keys of death, destroyed this chains of deceptive incongruity.

His angel choir never for a moment ceased their songs of adoration, glorifying His Majesty, joyfully inviting me to join their jubilations to the One who alone is worthy.

His overtures of passion told the story of another World, of the goodness of the One who is the great I AM with love defying the reasonings of my humanness.

He showed me another Way … another long, long road a-winding into Freedom …

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… leading me gently from the tabloids of hypocrisy … showing me the exit from the bondage where I was once to be found … bound with the evil iron cords of religion.

He rescued me from all my old remembrances that were thronging and suffocating, trying to snare me once again in the fowler’s snare.

He held my hand and walked with me through valleys where only crystal clear winds of beauty sang love songs …  there where I could fly free … rescued from the Lie I once used to be.

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He gently invited me with great tenderness to sit at His right Hand in heavenly places … He gathered me into His Loving Embrace … there where His Freedom dances … there … the only place where I belong.

Much love and sweet blessings xx

Mia

Linking-up with Lisa-Jo and the ladies at my Tea Time and Link-Up page. Today our guest is the word, BELONG.

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The Last Dance

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God’s Thoughts to Me

Today, when you hear His voice, don’t harden your hearts as Israel did when they rebelled (Hebrews 3:15 , NLT).

Introduction

imageToday I have the honor of introducing a dear friend, Rachel Haas. My heart sings to the same tune as hers.

Rachel is the most talented writer I have met in a long time and I wish my introduction could have been accompanied by a drum roll.

Rachel’s blog is the only one my husband follows faithfully. Thank you, Rachel for trusting me with your words and all your patience. You are a special lady.

To visit her, just click on her photo. Over to you, Rachel …

My Bleeding Heart

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I grew up in the right places. I grew up a good Christian girl, the right kind of person with the right kind of friends.

I had a WWJD bracelet and I knew every step to the dance of Christianity.

I was one of “those people,” the kind that got saved before she started kindergarten, who never drank or smoke or partied.

I was a good girl.

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That is, until I started asking questions.

I had no idea what lay on the other side of that door. None. I had never dared even peek outside. They said there was fire and brimstone on the other side.

There were questions there, the kind that belied faith and stripped away the supposed surety I had in the parroted Christianity that I had been embracing since my four-year old lips had formed the Sinner’s Prayer.

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They didn’t realize that I was already asking questions.

They expected me to walk on water.

They placed emulating their picture of Jesus on a pedestal, gesturing grandly in the direction of their Jesus-shaped golden calf.

I had two choices: bow down and embrace the floor, where I belonged or turn around and walk out the door.

And so I stood up, dropped the facade, took my husband’s hand, and together we walked out the door.

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That was step one. It would be another two years before I even considered taking another step. That first motion of foot in front of foot had been frightening enough.

I had thoughts, a whirlwind of questions that churned inside me, but I had no idea what to do with them. So I wrote them down.

Privately, of course, never even dreaming of voicing them where anyone else might happen to catch a glimpse of my tumult. I mentioned it to this friend, or that, and the responses were always the same: be careful. You know better.

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And maybe I did know better. But that wasn’t exactly going to stop me.

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I stopped seeing the sanitized Jesus after that. I’m not sure when it happened, but something had started to break inside me.

There was a damn with water churning and frothing behind it, waiting for the moment when I would pull out my finger and let the levy break.

I had to drown.

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And I had to be the one who said yes.

I went under the water, hair tangled and mud on my feet. I came up drenched and messy. I found myself blinking in a new Light. I discovered a new kind of faith, almost the opposite of what I had been taught growing up.

There was nothing tidy about this Jesus. He was dirty and bloody and human, Word made flesh. I started seeing myself in a new way.

Yes, I have walked away from the name “Christian.” I can’t stomach the taste in my mouth right now. But that’s all it is: a name. Jesus is not defined by the name His children are called by others.

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I am the boy Shasta whispering in the darkness to the Thing unseen, “who are You?”

And the gentle roaring comes back, a whisper on the breeze, a sacred breathing on my face.

“Myself.”

Rachel

P.S. Thank you so much, dear Rachel, for allowing us to accompany you for a while on your walk with Jesus.

Thank you to everyone who supported and encouraged me this year and I wish you all a great New Year filled chok-a-blog with Jesus. Thanks for blessing me with  the honor of having you as guests at my blog. You are all so precious and loved.

Sweet blessings xx

Mia

Linking-up with the ladies at my Tea Time and Link-Up page.

Writing Stories

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God’s Thoughts to Me

See, I have written your name on the palms of my Hands (Isaiah 49:16, NLT).

He will take delight in you with gladness. With His love He will calm your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs (Zephaniah 3:17b, NLT).

Love Letters In Sandy Soil

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Long, long ago, before the birth of time, You were the Author of Creation when the intensity of Your Love exploded into the story of man.

Breathless with desire, you created a crown for your glory … the ones to enjoy your love forever … the ones who refused the fruit of your Passion.

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Yet, still, you write love stories at the break of each day with the rays of sunlight to woo your lost ones home. You splash your words with the colorful mercies in the promises of rainbows.

You caress us with beautiful birdsong and the fragrance of your compassion is captured in the petals of delicate flowers.

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You heal the bended reeds with the fresh early morning dew drops of your grace.

Every faintly flickering firefly shines brightly with new life and the glory of your gladness after you have touched them with the brilliance of your smile.

You are the Author of a the love letter once written in the quicksand of the world when I was naked and soiled in the eyes of the monster called Self-Righteousness.

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You bent down to where I was lying in the dirty soil of despair, petrified and shivering with fear as rocks and stones of cruel words were killing me slowly.

Your gentle heart touched my fragility and filth and transformed my sin soiled rags into the beautiful gown of Your Righteousness. You crowned me with the crown of your glory.

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You gathered me into your Embrace and wrote a new song in the dusty soil of my brokenness … a special song where I am yours … the most beautiful of all … a song where you are my Beloved.

Much love and sweet blessings xx

Mia

Linking -up with Lisa-Jo and the ladies at my Tea Time and Link-Up page

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A Dark Song

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God’s Thoughts to Me

Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? (Psalm 42:5, NIV).

Ebony and Ivory

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Ebony and Ivory
a woeful lament
of a dark soul
downcast, in torment
a heart that pitifully weeps
desperate, quiet needs
smothered in the heavy darkness
of the organ’s
Toccata and Fugue

Much love from a heavy heart

Mia

Linking-up with

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