a manifesto

hey, fear?

Yeah, I see you. I’m talking to you, you little soul sucking, joy stealing bastard. I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you and with good reason. And, this? This is me putting you in your place, naming you for what you are. You once made me your home. You moved in, with your whispers, your lies, the unexplainable doubts and the nagging feeling that something was wrong, that I’m not enough, that all of this is a mistake and sooner or later the joke will be on me. The constant pressure, the lie that I had to do, do, do, in order to be anything at all. The lie I have to pour myself dry to be worthy of love. 

You know what? You’re done. No. More. I’m no home for you, and I’m tired of you and your lies. You can’t have me. I hear you—maybe I will always hear you—but I won’t listen to you anymore. Once, I let you call the shots. I allowed you to tell me what I can and can’t do, what brings me life, and all that brings me is a whole lot of tear-stained moments staring at the ceiling and wanting to be done. Guess what? If you had your way, I would never leave my room, never talk to anyone, never do anything that involved the slightest risk.

 I've been there, done that, tried that choice so many times and not once did it ever lead me toward fullest life. It tore me away from the people I needed to run to, put up a huge barrier between me and the ones I love. The nagging desire to do the right thing and the anxiety, the doubt, the perpetual feeling that nothing I did was enough—the tension, always the tension and never rest. The stakes are higher this year, too--leading a small group, becoming a teacher, loving people who are fragile and broken and breathtaking, learning ever more about how to live life in this skin.

And only now, I'm beginning to realize just how much of myself I have given to you.  I have always let you at least partially convince me that I’m not enough, that I’m going to fall and not be caught, that I’m not worthy of a life that sings, that changes at least my little corner of the world. You’ve managed to box me in, to cloud my judgment and my head and my joy. You’ve made it seem like I was forgotten, unloved, unwanted. You’ve made me believe that all I will ever do is fail, that my weaknesses and flaws are irredeemable, that He is far and I am forgotten and alone. You’ve built high walls between me and the ones who love me. You’ve made it seem like love can’t reach me wherever I am, like I’m too lost, too clueless, too tangled up in you to be saved.

You know what I say to that? I call it B. FREAKING. S. Because that's what it is, and it makes me mad that you can cause that much damage to one life, that you can screw with my head so completely. I say GET. OUT. I am not your home. You can’t have this year. You can’t have my heart, my friendships, my family. You have no claims on me, my past, my present, my future, because there is no truth in what you tempt me to believe. Yes, you feel more real than all of this at times, but you know what? You’re a liar, and a lie is nothing but the absence of truth. As long as I have my eyes on Truth—you can’t touch me. It’s only when I take my eyes off who I really am and who I belong to that you get to have your way…and yet, I’m finding even then,  even when I let go of Him, there is nothing in this life or heaven or hell that can make Him let go of me. The truth is true whether I’m looking at it or not. He has the final word, the final say, and He says enough. Because of that, because of Him, I will keep fighting you, keep casting you out over and over again until you have mind enough to stay out. Even if it takes a lifetime.  

I know who wins, and it sure as heck isn't you, bub. And this? Even when it doesn't feel like it, this is my victory song.