...There’s no other person I love more in this life than the Lord, yet our communion together is the most neglected. And it’s never my intention for this to occur, but it does.
Walking through this life is excruciatingly difficult, and oftentimes bringing the Father into my heartache just makes my heart hurt more. In my mistakes along the way, even after repentance, I often choose to sit in the darkness of shame rather than abounding in the light of grace. Because failing the One I love the most brings me a grief so incredibly unbearable. I want the Lord to smile on me, be proud of me, and look fondly upon me. So I despise that I’m living in this flesh. Don’t get me wrong — I love my skin, my heritage, my Blackness. But I despise living in a body so broken and irredeemable. This body that is crippled with the yolk of anxiety, obesity, and dysfunction. I do not enjoy the Lord meeting me in these painful places because I know this isn’t the life He’d want for me. There’s no joy there, in the place where anxiety lives. I don’t have hope where obesity casts its shadow. I’m so ashamed of the mountains I wrestle with. In a perfect world, I’d be free from battling them all. And even though Christ offers His hand and intercession regarding these matters, I still find myself isolated, buried deep with them. They don’t even have to crush me anymore; Christ has come. But they do. Deliverance is real and available, but my body does not accept it. This flesh knows no freedom. These bones don’t bow in reverence on their own. And where longevity should be my greatest prayer, it’s also weighed as my greatest fear. My relationship with the Lord is coincidentally complex and compelling. It’s never been a perfect picture. But I believe in the gospel with all my heart. I want to believe that it works for me too. Because it’s so good. And it’s true. I wrestle with what’s true about myself. The things I tell myself, when it’s not seasoned with salt, can be absolutely gut wrenching. And it’s been that way since I could remember. But the word of God has always calmed me and brought forth peace. It’s always felt like home. Even though this body is broken and irredeemable, it is a temple. And I shall do my best to honor it. But it is not my home. I am trying my best to commune with the Lord in these foggy valleys. A dear friend of mine told me that my strive for perfection is eating me alive piece by piece. I know the spirit of perfection I carry needs to be put to death. I desperately need to be refined daily in the covering of grace. I need more fruit of the Spirit. I will never be good enough for God. (You’d think I’d believe that revelation already since the folks in the Old Testament felt this truth in their bones everyday.) That’s why the Lord sent the most perfect, final sacrifice to reconcile His creation back to Him. We don’t even have to work for His forgiveness or acceptance. We just have to believe and repent. Jesus lives. So I shouldn’t be afraid to live. I know that even in this body I can live an extraordinary life. I only need to keep breathing, rely on my Chief Intercessor, commune with the Lord — my first love, and do what I need to do to take care of myself and this temple. It will never be redeemed, but it can be a vessel to champion giving glory to God. Where the flaws of a body seem to be most crushing and yielding, the Lord used a body to be nail-pierced, beaten, and torn for divine reversal. When Christ rose on the third day, He put the sins of the body to bed eternally. I worship with this body. I share the Good News in this body. I create and direct award-winning films in this body. And one day, God-willing, I fervently pray that this body will carry a child. This body isn’t all bad blood. May we all come to know, love, and make time for communing with Christ in our greatest hour and deepest need... even in the middle. Show up for the Lord, no matter how challenging it may be. He is with us always and He greatly enjoys our company. It wouldn’t be in His plan to reconcile us if He did not delight in us wholly, both in our joy and in our suffering.
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June 2022
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