Allow Joy.

In the last few years, I have seen scars and hurt and reoccurring disappointment. The relationships I thought were covenanted, the pieces of life I thought promised, the hopes I thought secure lie aimlessly or wasted or piled like torn rags.

I prepared myself for hardship, talked my way out of dreaming, and learned to struggle well through trial. It seemed the purpose, the climate of the places I found myself in.

So joy became a small antidote to captured through little things -- pretty napkins,colored jewelry, a great dress, a cup of Starbucks. Joy became "choosing to see" the Lord in tiny collections, like Hansen and Gretel, filing my cup with good along the way.

But now, I find myself peering out of this wall of protection built around my heart. The wall purposefully created to hold back dreams, tie down balloons, and section off sunsets. It was a barrier between wanting to much, a barrier set up between me and hope, to take away the pain of the present.

But now as I peer around the wall and want to hope for more, want to choose to see the greater of good in the broader perspective, I find myself cumbersomed with fear. Fear that I'll get caught up in the hope, and it will be squashed. That I'll find my way to fullness, and it will be squandered. That I'll allow myself to care, to dream, to believe in his promise for "good things" and they will be stolen, taken, or different than I dream.

About six months ago, the Lord impressed upon me the term "allow joy," trying to teach me to allow and see these good things he's providing as the good that they are. To not take them hesitantly, in fear of what could be behind, as if God were tricking me or setting me up for disappointment too, but to allow my heart and self to embrace them fully, completely, as whole.

The whole world changed. Everything in my perspective seemed to loosen and relax, and create this beautiful life that I felt the Lord was giving me, and I was receiving. It was a time of such glory, such goodness, such relief. I felt the restoration of what was taken, and in tune, learned to embrace.

I'm in another season of looking, peering. Wanting to wish and hope and dream. To create images and imagine a good life, granted to me. Yet tangled in that, is the fear, that it will be taken. That I'll hope and dream, and find the balloons once again, pierced.

That hope will lead instead to hardship, that fulfillment will find failure, and that my heart will once again learn trial instead of grace.

I want to dream big dreams. To allow flourish. To reap harvest. To find myself surrounded in a life where the richness of God touches every piece.

To crack the wall of protection.

I want to live a life that allows joy. That accepts joy, fully and without hesitation. Without fear. Without being cautiously jaded, looking around the corner for the hurt or anger or squashing of dreams to come.

I want to life a life that captures goodness in the little things, the small graces along the way. Yet also receives the richness of God's good gifts in their vast potential. Unhindered. Accepting them as they were meant to be given.

~~

A question to follow: How does one [you] allow joy and dream big dreams, while still keeping yourself pined down to the reality of living today? While staying focused on the present and not trying to run ahead and make or plan a future?