Dear Abba, in Your house, there is room. There is room for me, I am seen and brought in, and You have given space and grace. You hear, really hear, when I call or cry. You miss me when I withdraw into myself instead of being with You. You already know my limits––You wove those selvedges Yourself. I am Your girl, Somebody's baby––nothing is too audacious for me to ask (the nations for my inheritance?!). Nothing is too good for You to give me. Nothing is too costly for You to supply. What can separate me from Your love to me in Christ? What can sever our connection, threaten our relationship? Not tribulation or distress, not my most cavernous hunger or aching longings, rejection or aggression or assault. By Your Spirit, I am convinced, that neither death nor life, not things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, not my honesty or naked self, my tears or blood or wretched needs, the preverbal halfbaked or stillbirthed or stupid wrong tactless things I say, can separate me from Your Love. I am, I get to be, a child––Your child! Your face shines on me. Better is one day in Your house than a thousand elsewhere. And it's all Your house, every square inch.12. Resolved, to make known these Spirit-filtered, distilled requests and needs, within loving friendships. To be aware of the boundaries of safety and self, to uphold wise limits, hold tension and frame, and then to express them once knowing, as clearly and humbly as possible. This is all part of spiritual dancing with immortal beings.
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
the most secure attachment
11. Resolved, to ask our Father for any and all of my desires, even if they are ridiculous and petty and unrefined, to ask Him first. I can come to Abba's throne, as I am and not as I ought to be, to submit in confession the molten chaos of these longings and not harbor any ache or nurse any bitter lack. I don't need to nor can I censor myself, clean it up, or dress it up, I don't need to nor can I make myself and my requests more presentable a more acceptable offering. Just as I am, with all my pleas.
Labels:
Abandonment,
Attachment Theory,
Child,
Family,
Father,
Post-processing,
Resolved
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