That'll Preach

So Much More

You woke up this morning and before you could even get out of bed you felt it. Like the tide pulling you deeper below the waves just as your head was above the salty water you felt it. The weight of lies and loneliness sitting on your chest, whirring, unwelcomed in your ear you felt it. You felt it before you even opened your eyes to greet the sun.

“…You have given me a heritage.” psalm 61:5

HERITAGE: her·it·age /ˈherədij/ noun; something that comes or belongs to one by reason of birth.

One year ago, this verse found me all by myself on the kitchen floor of an empty apartment in Atlanta, Georgia trying desperately to put something together that resembled a life, the enemy whispering things like nobody cares that you’re here. You will never belong here. You will never do anything more than what you’re doing now. This is as good as it gets for you.

I can still feel the darkness of the room and the cool tile on my skin. “God, this can NOT be what you want for me, there is no way that this is where i’m supposed to be.” I was so mad.

Just weeks before, days before, I had it all. The perfect little life, with the perfect family, the perfect relationship with the most beautiful man, my beautiful, perfect, full of life best friends that lived right across the street.

Now what?

I felt like a little wrinkled grape that had been swept between the cabinets and the fridge in this very new, very fast, very unfamiliar city. My friends and family hundreds of miles away and my heart attempting to nurse very open, very messy wounds.

Nothing felt right and everything felt horribly wrong.

Anger and bitterness began to grow in the place of what was once excitement and eagerness for my future. The thought ached through my head, this is not what i signed up for.

Until one day i realized that this is exactly what i signed up for. I didn’t sign up for perfection, I signed up for promise.

Not promise that nothing would ever go wrong, not promise that i would never have to do hard things, but promise that i would never be left alone. Promise that grace runs free and mercy was new every morning. Promise that i am seen. Promise that i am known. Promise that i am loved and chosen. Promise that i have a seat at the table. Promise that i belong.

It was on an apartment floor in Atlanta, Georgia that new vision was breathed into dead dreams and hope began to sprout again in the cracks of my heart. And in a whisper that felt a lot like hugging your mama after not being home in months, the Lord spoke to the bones of my soul.

He said, “Child, a house cannot be built without there first being a ground breaking. There is so much more.”

As the revelation ricocheted through the stillness of that moment, like the sunrise it began to dawn on me that all of the earth shaking, all of the burning and the ground breaking was paving and forging and purging—redeeming and positioning and making a way for me to step into my purpose.

Hallelujah, bad moments are no match for a good God. When we are in Christ, wherever we are is exactly where we need to be and wherever He is is right where we belong, and contrary to how it may feel, He is in the ground breaking, making room for the house to be built.

So tomorrow morning if you wake up and feel the pull of the tide and the lies, remind yourself of this: You belong here. There is purpose for this. You were born for this. There is so much more.

3 Comments

  • Shawn Sheffield

    Thank you so much for this. I have been struggling with these exact feelings lately and your words have encouraged me. Thank you!! God has blessed you with a gift.

  • Pam

    Love you and your family. This should be an inspiration to many young and old. I am hoping my grandchildren read this.

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