Faithful

I had to confess to my husband this weekend.

When my Healer was suturing cavernous wounds and teaching me who He is He also began to teach me who I am. He began to teach me how to claim my heritage as royalty. He is still teaching me, constantly, minute by minute how to be His.

Key to my healing and to the beauty and health God wove into our marriage covenant was my recognition of who exactly the white knight is in my sleeping beauty tale. For years I had wanted Will to fill me, to “complete” me. I tugged and pushed and grunted and groaned trying to get him to fit into that stupid armor and up on that dang horse, to no avail. All the while not giving my man room to be exactly the MAN God would have him be. I cringe as I write this. It hurts into the depths of my heart. Stupid, stupid girl.

God taught me that He is the white knight. He is my portion. He is what fills me, sustains me and heals me. He is who rescues me, daily.

In the throes of grief Satan drew me back into this old habit. The emptiness is so deep, the pain so bone shattering. I was desperate for anything, anything to hold on to. However, I’ve been vigilant. I’ve been aware. I’ve been careful.

Satan found a way to twist even the purest of relationships, even the safest of embraces. I need my man. I adore my man. I need to crawl into his arms surrender to the sobs that rack my body and to allow the moans to escape my throat. But I must KNOW where my help comes from. I must KNOW where my healing comes from. I must not try to take something my man does not have to give. He cannot fill me. He cannot heal me.

God faithfully pointed out this subtle shift in my heart. 

So, I had to confess to my husband. It was hard. It was so hard. A grave temptation in this season of soul tearing wounding is to use grief as my excuse to behave, think and act any way I dang well please. I have every right… Yeah, I have every right. God gave me that right. He gave me the right to choose and yes, I have every right to be a jerk, to act like an idiot, and to do all manner of damage to my heart, body and soul.

Christ died to give me another right. He died to give me the right to be adopted to full sonship. To be blessed with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms. He gave me the right to heal. To arm myself every day and to one day be carried home. To hear the words “well done good and faithful servant.”

My right to my heritage in Christ requires obedience. People don’t like that word “obedience” but that is exactly what it is. I must obey, even when it makes NO sense, because I trust.

The relief that came in that simple pillow cushioned confession was immense, for both of us. Still it cost me. It cost me pride and it cost me the “right.” We laid there and discussed how exhausting and infuriating it is to be battling just to breathe and yet still engaged on all sides. Satan is vicious, evil, relentless and cunning. 

God is faithful.