I'm free to do what I want, any old time.

The older I get, the more I appreciate my freedom to chose.
I live in a country where I am free, nobody tells me what to do.
Sure, I'm assigned tasks and certain things are asked of me, but I always have a choice.

Over the last few years, I see personal freedom from a whole new angle.
Maybe the years have made me a little wiser, and less entitled, or maybe I'm just now realizing something that isn't that much of a revelation at all. Maybe you knew this all along.
But I'll share anyway.
I've realized personal freedom isn't about doing or saying what you want when you want. It's about having nothing to prove, therefore being okay when you don't get to say your piece.
It's about apologizing when you're wrong, and being quick to forgive.
It's about choosing mercy.
It's about taking responsibility for your actions.
It's about knowing that seeking justice will leave me empty, seeking Jesus is always the better option.

This lesson didn't come easy, y'all.
It came through the fire of personal experience, as my dad would say.
It came through the death of a family relationship. It might as well been a real death, it hurt me so bad.
Ultimately, I was powerless to this person- and that's not typical for me.
She seemed to hold all the cards all the time.
Bullies seem so brave and bold with their reckless words and actions.
I was outraged at how freely she spewed.
I wanted to fight for the truth.
The injustice mocked me as I laid awake at night, watching the ceiling fan swirl.
I would rehearse, and plead for a conversation where I could, just for once, have the upper hand.
"Please, God" I'd say. Just let me tell her. She needs to know.
But I was always met with the same answer, "No."
No.
No.
No.
Finally, I stopped asking.
And it stopped mattering as much.
And then eventually it barely mattered at all.

And then, oh my gosh, I don't even care anymore.

Hi. I'm free.

You see, now I can look at the whole situation thorough the lens of hindsight and I see she didn't have the upper hand at all. She had no power, no cards. She was grasping for straws. She was desperate.
But I was, too. Because instead of forgiving her and moving on, I was stewing and plotting in my own way.
I was a prisoner to my quest for justice
See the irony there?

On this Easter night, I asked the Lord to show me what things in my life need to be buried; the things am I holding onto that keep me from freedom. Because there's always something trying to creep in. An offense, a fear, an injustice.  I've learned the real secret is believing in His power, the power to make paths straight, the power to redeem and shine in the darkest places. He is the resurrection and the life, anyone who believes in Him will live, even after dying.
What more is there?
Just believe God can handle it and live in the light of His love.

This is my definition of freedom.
What's yours?