But they're just prompts I can choose not to respond to. Just invitations I can decline and keep moving forward.
But the other moments...
The other moments sneak and slither and don't even bother tapping me on the shoulder before stabbing me fully in the back. Don't even bother with the niceties of introduction, simply assault in full force, full color, full daylight, nothing held back. No fear, no shame, no limits. Brutal.
And they come with lies. So many lies. Hoarse whispers of guilt and death and what-if's that churn and cycle like a full load of laundry. Dirty laundry. Laundry that will never wash clean.
Those are the days I feel like a failure. Those are the days I think my progress is for naught, and that I haven't moved an inch on this dusty, curved road that God is still maneuvering straight. That I'm only inches from the crossroads where I finally screamed "ENOUGH" and chose life.
Those are the days the whispers grow long like the shadows. "What's the point?" "You're still here, see?" "You're still. right. here." "Still crying. Still affected. Still sad. Still trapped. You're always going to be right here. So stop trying."
What the enemy of my soul forgets is that on this journey down this narrow road, I've learned the voice of my Saviour. I know my Shepherd's voice, and this sheep follows Him--often quite dumbly and blindly, but oh - she follows. I know with an intensity that consumes my heart in holy fire the voice of the Holy Spirit in my heart. That can't be taken away from me. The enemy can try to whisper the lies louder but that voice is ingrained so deep within, it can't be removed. We can not separate.
So I choose which voice I allow to hear loud and clear.
And I choose not to believe the lies being flaunted in my face.
I've made a rookie mistake. I've let myself believe that my bad days define me. That my moments of weakness and sadness and tears define my journey, make me somehow less than, not enough, not far along.
I'm changing my perspective. I'm going to view these moments not as failure or lack of progress, but as progress itself. Because when you exercise, you're growing stronger. Yet in that meantime, your muscles are tearing. They're straining to grow and enhance and increase and that is painful. You get sore after a hard workout. But in the next session, you're stronger. And you do it again. Work out, tear down, build up. Work out, tear down, build up.
There's no building of the muscle without it first tearing.
So the tears on my cheeks are officially the ripped tears of my heart growing stronger. Growing. Enhancing. Increasing. My tears and bad days are not an indication that I'm a failure or lagging behind on my journey forward. No. Rather, they're proof that I am progressing and becoming more.
There's a quote in the book Alice and Wonderland, the Mad Hatter saying to Alice "You used to be much more...muchier. You've lost your muchness."
That's what the enemy wants me to believe. That I've lost my muchness. That I'm less than I was before this journey. But no. No more. I've gotten so much more muchier this past year and a half, and especially in these last 7 weeks of surrender, obedience, and change.