Move

Sometimes there are things that don’t work out the way we had planned. You may love something and put your full effort into making it something you’re proud of, just to have someone else disregard everything you’ve done or worked for. You may make the right arguments and still yet be dismissed as if you had never spoken up. You may find that, despite countless hours of your own personal sacrifice, others find you irrelevant.

I am in a season of pressing. A season of pressure. A season when, despite every best effort I make, I can’t quite get what I need. A season of feeling displaced and under valued. A season of prayer and intercession for making certain I’m truly operating on “less of me” and at the “removal of myself.”

This season is hard. This season is exhausting. This season is trying and seemingly non-stop.

My feelings have been hurt and I’ve pressed on. I have been discarded without care but I’ve kept going. I have had people I once respected show a complete disregard for and toward me. I’ve had the opportunity, multiple times, to believe someone’s actions when they showed that they hold no value for me or what I contribute to a situation but have continued in hopes that I’m incorrect.

I’ve literally come to the end of myself.

Do you know what I have found here? In this place where I can no longer support myself. In this place where I truly have no more effort left to give?

I’ve found my Father who has whispered to me that despite all I’m enduring, I am not alone. I’ve found the Holy Spirit who has wrapped his arms around me and allowed me to cry and grieve all of these pieces. I have found the hope and promise that there is joy that comes in the morning and I’m just waiting for my dawn. I have found that my Father, who knows me better than anyone else, will always remind me of who I am.

I’ve been reminded that my calling isn’t tied to anything about ME but it’s tied instead to who HE is. I’ve found that the greatest impact I have has nothing to do with what I DO but instead who I AM and where I allow the Lord to move freely.

I’ve been reminded that my Father loves me beyond all comprehension. That he will fight for me far more efficiently than I ever could but I have to turn that loose and allow him to.

I’ve found that I am broken. Not in a way that means I’m less valuable but in a way that means I can’t do anything on my own and the more I try to, the worse that may turn out.

I’ve been reminded of that voice and discernment that I’ve carried since I was a small girl. How the Lord will instill in me all of the things he wishes to and doesn’t need to invoke anyone else to do so.

Tonight during worship, I began to weep on stage as I should have been singing. The Lord has been whispering to me for months now. Reminding me. Preparing me.

From the season of crushing, new wine comes forth. From the season of travail, new life is birthed.

My Heavenly Father is my source, my strength, my restoration, my helper, my present help, my rock to cling to, my mover of mountains, my potter, my author, my finisher, my breaker of chains. He goes before me, he walks beside me, he goes behind me. He’s here and he’s moving.