The rain in November surely took no breaks and followed into December. The first two days were wet, raw and cold. The snow is melted, leaving everything barren, except for a few random patches of snow that refuse. As I said my farewells to social media and a few other activities I had been consumed with in November, I woke up December 1 and wondered if I was really going to be able to follow through with my plans. Addictions of every kind are hard to overcome. I was planning for withdrawal and wasn’t quite sure how I was going to fill in the spaces. I had no plan. I just had Christmas in front of me, my work, my family and a bunch of loose ends I didn’t know how to tie. With little money and no energy, all I had was what looked like a fragmented hope.

I knew I had to rest and let settle all that has consumed me in the past few months. I didn’t quite know what to expect. I didn’t quite know if I was really expecting anything. And then something happened. I can’t tell you how I just know my eyes saw something. “Well, tell us please”, you plead.

Photo by Ewelina Karezona Karbowiak on Unsplash

 A word, yep, it was a word. Words happen to poets and writers. The word was ‘deep’. And I was deep in thought over it. Being a Christian, I also prayed about this word. I was thinking how I am afraid of deep water. I thought about how the color of water darkens the deeper it gets. Light is hidden in the deep spaces.

And I started to write a poem in my journal. Not for anyone to see, just for me. About deep. About “she” hiding in the deep spaces, fearing being known and seen, being small and unimportant. It was about facades and blame that only reflect fear and shame; fearing the deep, but living there all the same. Why would one do that?

As I wrote it the words went to light finding it’s way, making a hole and all that darkness now is gone and it took no effort, but just seeing freedom in the lighted space. Not only was ‘she’ free, but who ‘she’ held captive was also free.

So I finished the poem and I stared at it. Sometimes I have to read what I write a few times to understand what I wrote. As I did, I realized I was actually out of the dark in an area where I have been in the dark for a long time. And it took no effort. I didn’t have to move. As I was writing, light came to me and I knew at that moment I was releasing, not only myself but another from captivity.

I was free. I sat for a while, in silence, not knowing what to do. What do you do with freedom? Do I tell someone? (I’m telling you) Will they believe me? Will they expect perfection? Will they watch and scrutinize my every step?

Well, I guess I am watching myself first, and though I know I’m not perfect (those snow patches are hard melting), I can tell you I can see differences. My attitude is changed in a few areas. You can’t pick something up if your hands are already full.

My heart is more focused. Maybe because it’s not in two places any more.

I am more willing to serve in certain areas. Maybe because I am no longer a slave.

I am more willing to forgive. Maybe because I have been released and have released my captor.

What do I take from all of this?

We don’t always know when we are in darkness, and light takes adjustment.

Where I live affects someone else.

I am never alone, even if I am hiding.

God is in my poetry. He is my inspiration. I’m not giving that up!

Wow, it’s only the beginning of the month! And it’s the first week of Advent. I have a story about that too, maybe next time.

Hi, my name is Mary and I am a writer of hope, sorting through the mudpuddles and rainbows of my life. I believe God can be found in all of it.
Hi, my name is Mary and I am a writer of hope, sorting through the mudpuddles and rainbows of my life. I believe God can be found in all of it.

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