Lavender skies above me, I drove straight to the wilds, a visit to my birthright cathedral, in the fading of the day. I don’t process well in crowds or conversations. I need silence, room to think, an open road. So I drove down our back roads and into the mountains, out and west, and the sky turned indigo while I blasted music and cried and wrestled my life into a Jesus-shape all over again.
I dug a new grave for my sarcasm and wicked anger, my self-defense and my own weak reputation, my “rights” and my pride, my comebacks and retaliations, then my need to be liked and understood and appreciated and approved. I prayed through every wound, every slight, every cruelty, every name-calling, every judgement, every hurt, and I released over and over again, “They know not what they do.”
And I chose to make peace all over again. I chose ferocious gentleness. I chose kindness. I chose love. Under the light, I stood on the side of the road with my head back, alone in the wilderness, and I stretched out my arms and prayed for daily courage and senseless love. I asked for grace to forgive. I wept into the rocks at my relief at the gospel and the grace and mercy and goodness of my Jesus.
Where else could I go, Lord? You have the words of eternal life.
A flock of birds exploded out of a nearby tree. I watched them dark against the purple sky as they scattered and soared out. The pine trees stood scraggly and imperfect. Worn out and bare wind-breakers, these evergreens made more beautiful by their rugged stubborn imperfections, bare spots and knots, determined. I need the sight of their upright, determined and imperfect worship. I need the cold air at my throat, and I need wisdom. Disrupting and truth-telling, grace-lavishing and loving is not for the faint of heart, and I am faint in my heart often. Jesus, be near. Teach me to look and live in these places and in this calling.
I stood there, and the Spirit breathed and comforted me. I felt like the ravens might suddenly visit me with a bit of bread. It was sacred by the side of the road. It might be a small thing to so many others, but for me, it was a turning point. I don’t really know why, but I left something by the side of the road this weekend, something that needed to be left behind. I’m traveling a bit more lightly, a bit of a limp to my gait, absolutely wounded and healed all over again in a new place.
Nourished, lightened, relieved, and yet still tender in my bruising, I drove home in the darkness. I will not be silenced. The only song I’m ever singing, here, there, everywhere, is the freedom song of the beloved redeemed. I’m part of a chorus and our voices are rising: You are loved and you are free in Christ.
Sarah Bessey is a wife, mama of three tinies, a writer, popular blogger, and a happy-clappy Jesus lover. She lives in Abbotsford, British Columbia. Her first book, Jesus Feminist (Howard Books) is in bookstores. You can read more of her work at SarahBessey.com.
Janet Perez Eckles 
Shawn Akers 
Abby Trivett 
