Well it’s nearly been a year since I went to Lacey, WA and found my little soul busting out of deathly living. And so, following is something I hold dear to me. A word that would never leave me, and would in fact be a catalyst of change for a bound up kind of heart.

Suddenly short of breath and full of the facts I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d placed myself there in that old wooden coffin though I were dying to myself and living for Him when the Son really shone and a new day dawned on me. I needed out. I couldn’t breathe. Life had escaped these dry bones but I’d considered myself  humble, when really I’d laid down in that coffin like a mat for feet to be wiped.

It’d been so dark there. Dark and full of dust, but I hadn’t known any different. In fact, from dust this flesh was made, and to dust this flesh will return. I knew I was made for His Glory, but what does that mean in the light of all this? Isn’t this all what it means to suffer for Christ? And isn’t letting go of all that made me Dee how I serve my husband, mentor those ladies, and take care of my family? I realized suffering and suffocating is spelled much too similarly. People certainly aren’t created uniquely and in His image just to let it all go, what had I become?

Wheezing and dizzy without even a sound my heart screamed and my hands pounded to let me out. Please, please, please let me out! And I hit that coffin lid with force not my own, and while the splinters dug in, the blood started dripping down and I knew I weren’t quite dead. The only way to heal is to open the wound and release the poison. I knew I were still bleeding and living and soon that old lid busted louder than my screams and I raced my way to my feet.

Falling from my uncertain stand, weeping took over. I would soon be clean. I’d fall again to the coffin floor not once but so many times it began to hurt. I was light-headed, my life desperately needed something of substance. And I climbed my way out so afraid. I would climb with the dirt piled deep in my fingernails and the dust rising above me, but I would climb.

So when I’d made my way up to feel dried grass and scar-filled hands pulling me up the last stretch of the way I couldn’t help but let loose all those emotions pent-up. And I cried and mourned all that I’d ever really known trapped below all that dust, this blood, and His Glory. His Glory. His Glory. His Glory, I’d breathe it up fresh into these dirtied lungs, and breathe out hesitant it would go with the old air. It still hasn’t.

Those sweet rugged hands pressed their thumbs on either cheekbone, and glided glory over those messy tears. His Glory… I could not get over His Glory.

Stand, child. Beautiful child, Stand, and I will stand with You.

As I rose He took that filthy old dirt and placed it back in my hands. And I cried. I was overwhelmed that He’d pull me up out of there, that he’d wipe my face full of His glory, and then… put that filth back in my hands?! Perhaps I were meant for dust and He for Glory after all.

He took my hand full of dirt and guided over the edge. Let it go, Let it all go. He said it with such confidence I furrowed my brows and held tighter. But it was my dirt. It was my home. It was my comfort, even if it weren’t all that comfortable. I might have just needed a breather, but I could go back… It was all that I knew. And all I knew was nothing noteworthy or fit for such a king. And I had to let it go.

Because if I took all that dirt and placed it on top of that coffin, I’d never be able to go back there again. And what if I wanted  to go back there again?

Pictures like Egypt flashed all throughout my mind and I slowly took handfuls and poured it over that place. Like people and places each handful represented something much bigger to defeat than I. But He stood there with me. And we mourned that place like I’d mourned my past and when He said we needed to continue forward, I hesitated and looked behind. He stroked my hair and we left dust for glory.

Because if it’s not for His Glory than I’m not willing to stay, no matter how familiar I am with the place. There is a life worth my living. Suffering worthy of His Glory. And I couldn’t do it if I didn’t bleed my losses and shake the dust off my feet before I’d leave.

His glory, my dusty feet. His bleeding, my enemies defeat. He’s worthy, I’m royalty. And this once bound up heart could certainly never feel the same. I, my friend, am free.

but let the one who boasts boast about this: that they have the understanding to know me, that I am the LORD, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,” declares the LORD. Jer. 9.24