How Can I Pray for You?

How can I pray for you today? Feel free to post here or send me an email at lindseyhartz@yahoo.com, and listen to the song below. Love you!

And while you are here, would you take a moment to pray for the others who have posted before you?

In Him,
Lindsey

Fight or Flight

I’m sitting on a couch, watching a priest and the adults in my life huddled in the corner. They are speaking in harsh, hushed tones, faces full of chaos. Hope is dripping through me, one slow heartbeat, one unsteady breath, at a time. I’ve finally found the bravery to say something, to show what’s been heartbreakingly done, how I’ve been shattered over and over for years.

My breath catches, a swelling in my soul, my eyes look up to them and the heavens beyond with desperate love and trembling trust.

It’s over.

It’s OVER.

Shouting in my mind.

They turn around, the priest leaves, the adults tower before me, united.

I am told to never speak of this again. And I am left there.

In that moment I learn that it is possible to shatter even more, the pieces of my broken heart and fleeting dreams ground into dust along with the innocence lost long ago by the ones {and the One} I love most.

The only path left for me to choose is one of submission to that shame I can not stop. In fact, I embrace it as only a child forced to survive must, doing what is demanded of me. Each moment, each touch, confirming that I am forsaken.

Deep inside me, mistrust and numbness set in. I am dead to the world; the world is dead to me. And God? He is a pipedream, a fantasy in my head. He’s left me there too.

This lie is what I am fighting, right now, so many years later.

I know I can’t live like this anymore….balancing on a ledge with my face bathed in radiance, hands reaching, the true glory of God calling my name. With claws gripping my back, dragging me closer and closer to the edge, trying to yank me back to the depths of my own personal hell. This push-pull inside me of continuing to fight God’s love versus letting go and taking flight into the mercy of His arms.

I’ve been reminded that I can’t grow weary in my battle, can’t give up on what seems impossible, can’t succumb to the despair that envelops me as I walk through the past again and again. I must continue to press on in this literal fight for the life I am meant to have, in Him.

I’ve been reminded that God never promises to heal fear in us that is based on lies. He only promises to walk us through the journey of picking apart those lies, so we can see that the only way is Him. That the only way is Truth.

O sweet Lord, have mercy on me and my battered heart. I am begging you to hear my desperate cry, to help me forgive what has caused me so much pain, to let go of who Satan wants me to think I am destined to be. I want to believe in your promises; I want to believe in your love; I want to learn to trust again; I want to find joy. Help me learn how.

The Battle

I’m supposed to be writing, journaling my thoughts, a timer counting down slowly on the desk nearby. Stream of consciousness, anything goes, the instructions say not to plan, not to think, just feel, just write

from

my

heart

I smirk at the thought, wonder who would want to read this, the things I really feel in the dead of night with rain pounding the window, with tears on my face, with pain twisting my soul.

I don’t want to take this journey. Don’t want to walk through the valley of the shadow of death, don’t want to pick my way through the battlefield filled with despair and loneliness and shame, don’t want to drag my weary and trampled heart through the mud and muck again.

It is so much easier to stand still and small and look up with a hopeful gaze and hands held high. To pray that God’s mercy will blaze from the heavens, set me free, in an instant.

It is easier to dream a better way, an easier path. Maybe I can take a flying leap, and make it to the other side without the heartache, without any more scars, without any more pain cutting me to the core.

I know better, of course. The easy way is false, and does not require much of me. Keeps me safe, and comfortable, and fake. Can’t move forward, can’t really live, with pure, true, precious joy from the One above if I choose my comfort over truth, if I choose standing still over sprinting straight into the fray.

The hard way requires sacrifice…the sacrifice of me, a willingness to dig in my heels and dig deep beneath the pretty face and gentle smile and nurturing heart everyone knows. To rip through layer after layer after layer until all is laid bare before the One bigger than me, bigger than all of us. Bigger than sin and pain and hurt and harm inflicted on us.

I have to trust.

I HAVE to trust.

Because if I don’t, I am lost all over again, and it will be all my fault.

The timer has gone off, my time is up. I am not finished, words rattling around my head. But I am resolute, ready to put on the armor of God, ready to shout words of Truth at anyone and anything that tries to sway me {especially myself} as I race into the battle.

O precious Father, thy will be done.

Oasis

I walk and walk; heat rolling towards me in stifling waves. A sandstorm is raging, and I lower my head, close my eyes, against the sting of each grain of sand against my face, my hands, my soul.

The sand, the sharp tick of discomfort accompanied with each one, reminds me of

Regret
Mistakes
Pain
Heartache
Shame

A lonely howl, as the wind keeps on, those grains of stain performing a chaotic dance in the air. Wrapping themselves around me with fury, clouding my vision, dimming my hearing, wreaking havoc with my heart.

Up ahead, an oasis shimmers past the edges of the storm. I grit my teeth, firm my resolve, and press on until my feet sink into the sweet grass, the shimmering pool of water, the palm trees swaying in the wind. There is another tree, one much like the tree in the garden. Beautiful red apples glistening, beckoning. I sink down, thankful for the relief, thankful for the respite from the storm raging around my little island of peace.

I spend my days gazing at the apples, wondering. Gazing at the water, contemplating. Trying to understand my new found faith and my place in it. Until one day, I eat. And I drink.

I don’t see the snake, watching me with glittering eyes and devilish intention, waiting to lure me back.

I sit in that oasis for a long time, content to gorge myself with what seems to be right, and what seems to be deserved.

I am unaware that it is just a mirage. Another carefully constructed layer of protection in my mind created to dim the pain, giving me just enough momentum to say I believe, to feel I believe. Unaware that I don’t really believe.

It is not so hard to be here in this place. I can still see and taste that storm all around me, I can still feel its sting. But I diminish its presence, try to hold it at bay, try to convince myself out of pure will, with a mantra of words like “Jesus loves me” and “I am forgiven.”

One day I notice that sand has started to trickle in, dusting my trees and grass and water with a fine layer of coarseness and hardness. I can no longer see the beauty, no longer feel peace. I become disillusioned and disappointed, knowing I have traded the real oasis for a false one. I once again grit my teeth, firm my resolve and press on; hoping to find another. Hoping to find truth.

I take a deep breath, take a hold of Jesus’ hand, and step back into that storm. Then another. And as a look around, I start to realize that the storm is gone, has been gone for a long time. We raise our linked hands to the wind; feel the rush of sand grazing our fingertips as they blow by and around us, falling to the ground. I stoop down and pick up a handful with my free hand, as does He. And as the grains drift through our fingers and over our footsteps, I realize…

It’s just sand.

And the true oasis has been standing there all along, waiting patiently for the last surrender of my heart.

I walk forward now, leaving that desert behind. The sun touches my upturned face, the wind whistles along with my heart song.

Jesus loved me enough to first save me from my sin.

But He also loved me enough to then save me from myself.

This is what I am thankful for.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled”
-Matthew 5:6