Freedom

It was a startling, pull the car over and breathe deeply, savor it slowly, kind of realization.  I was not afraid.  I was driving around Amarillo.  And I was not afraid.  My heart was not pounding.  My thoughts were not racing.  I was at peace.  In Amarillo.

Years ago, I had a life altering realization about my fear of being a counselor (which you can read here).  It was life altering because it was the catalyst that lead me to begin walking into fear in a way I’d never understood before.  Now, I regularly walk into things that scare me to death simply because I have to.  The difference is that now I know what I’m doing, and it’s purposeful.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I am no fire fighting, coal walking, confronter of the fires of ALL my fears.  There are plenty of things I run from and even more that are so deeply rooted I couldn’t begin to know where to dig to even find them to face.  But a few things, I’ve begun to walk into with purpose.

I walked into one of my biggest fears this fall.  I was planning a trip to Amarillo and really wanted to go worship with my friends at Southwest.  So I messaged one of my praise team buddies on Facebook to see if I could sit with her that Sunday.  Her response was quick and fairly surprising.  She was happy for me to sit with her, but she wanted me to know that my ex-husband would most likely be sitting on the same pew.  With his girlfriend.

For about five minutes, I was hurt.  Not because I wanted him back or felt jealousy, but because I was so easily replaced.  I guess if I’m being honest, it was mostly a blow to my pride.

But that wasn’t the problem and had nothing to do with my fear.  My problem was in knowing I’d have to see him.  That made me afraid.

I was not physically abused.  But for the vast majority of the 13 years of my marriage, I lived in fear.  Fear of words.  Fear of silence.  Fear of rejection.  Fear of messing up.  Fear of being an annoyance.  Fear of indifference.  Fear of revenge.  Fear of sabotage.  The list goes on.

Leaving was the single most courageous act of my life.

But I continued to live in fear.  Fear of words.  Fear of rumors.  Fear of family.  Fear of church people.  Fear of judgment.  I looked over my shoulder every time I left my apartment.  WalMart was excruciating.  My first trip there I had to take a friend.  For months after, I went to get groceries with my headphones on and my mom’s voice in my ear.  If I were talking on the phone, no one would approach me.  Mom was happy to be my shopping security blanket. 

The fear did not end when the divorce was final.  It didn’t end when I moved back home.  With every trip back to Amarillo, I was afraid.  The fear lessoned.  But it was always there.  A slow, small burn that threatened at any moment to grow into a devastating conflagration fanned by the familiar winds of the past in the Panhandle.

After receiving my friend’s FB message, I very seriously considered not going to church after all.  Especially with the girlfriend there.  I really had no desire to cause trouble or drama, least of all for her.  I really just wanted to sit next to my friend so we could worship in song together.

I thought about it overnight and came to the inevitable conclusion that it was time to face my fear.  I had to go to church.  I had to sit with my friend.  I had to see him.  I needed to know that I could be in the same town, in the same room, on the same pew, and be safe.  My fear was allowing him to have power and control over my life.  And that wasn’t his fault.  It was mine. 

On the Sunday morning of battle, I put on my full Woman Armor…figure flattering outfit, coordinating sparkly jewelry, great hair, rebel bonus earrings, and  woman-on-a-mission lipstick.  I was ready.

The actual battle was sort of anticlimactic.  I went in and found my friend.  Sat down and worshipped.  I saw him.  And her.  And it wasn’t any big deal.  I sat with my friend and sang my heart out.  The songs and sermon were perfect.

About halfway through the second song, I started giggling quietly.  I was on the verge of losing it to loud laughter and barely managed to reign it in.  Why?  Because I was suddenly struck by my own silliness.  What in the world had I been afraid of?

He’s just a person.  With good and bad, strengths and weaknesses.  Just a person.  No better or worse than me.  Just a person.  Who no longer had power over me.

I left that service more free and joyful and unburdened than I had been in about fifteen years.  Glorious.

I went back to Amarillo this weekend to celebrate Darcie’s life.  While I was there, I realized I have much to celebrate in my own.