Digging my pit

I watched my mother work and work. The only time she enjoyed time for herself and had a blast was when she took her yearly trips to her birth place in Haiti. The only place I ever heard her desire to visit besides her childhood home was Florida. This was mainly due to the fact that my unofficial godmother/ her b.f.f. visited there so often. She eventually moved there and my mom never got the chance to visit.

Although I watched both parents always work and had multiple jobs at times, I never had that kind of work ethic. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m not lazy. Far from it. I mean I’ve worked since I was about 15. Working is all gravy until you have to, at least in my case. I just am wired a little differently. I never wanted to be under someone else for as long as I could remember. I loved and required freedom over a chained existence. As I got older, the need to have things but not through typical hard work became part of who I was. We’ll get more into my work history at a  later post perhaps, but I say this to say, I left for Florida to pursue a new life, one my mother might have had, but lived my life more entwined in chains than she ever was working her crazy hours to provide for our family. She may had to work for someone else all her life but she most certainly was free. I know and understand that now.

The day I moved, I longed for the sense of freedom to come crashing through my every being. I ached for it. Can someone ever be free of themselves, their thoughts, and memories though? I half expected it to be like a switch one can just turn on then whammo, I’d have my sense of freedom. With every mile driven south, another heap of chains was added through sheer grief and turmoil. Spiritually, I weighed more getting out of the car to Florida then when I left Boston. Honestly I believe that spiritual weight and heaviness would have come on a lot quicker had I stayed. I think somewhere in the midst of it all, I was surrendering. No. I had surrendered. To put it mildly, I had surrendered to never feeling content and happy again. That was very mildly. It’s so difficult to explain. I guess what it was is I just sort of gave up. I gave up and gave in. The situation took away my mother and parts of me, but by this point I was just giving pieces away. My joy, my compassion, my morals, my sense of self, my freedom. I didn’t know it but I was going further into the dark rabbit hole, all chained up with my grief. So with that and whatever was left of Goretty, pass the chains, if anything well, Florida would have to deal with.

Psalms 40:1-2 I waited patiently for the Lord; He turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.

…In those days there was nothing patient about me. Had I been who knows. God was faithful though, even when I wasn’t. He was working even when I wasn’t. He plucked me out of Boston where my grief began. After turning into someone I didn’t even recognize, He still remembered me and freed me from my own personal pit. Today, well today I thank Him that I even have the opportunity to surrender to His will. And no one else’s. Now that’s freedom.

Question to Reader:

What chains do you put on yourself?