i want to live free

I'm sitting here in Starbucks, puffy-eyed. My heart feels raw. Exposed. Tender. I just spent two hours crying like I haven't in a long time.

In a counseling session. Sigh.

When I first started going to counseling almost a year ago, I was so anxious about each visit. Now, without even really thinking about it, I start my sessions by taking off my shoes and pulling my feet up on the couch. I feel comfortable, even when we're tackling a difficult subject. It helps tremendously that I have a therapist I respect and love. I've said for a while now that if my counselor is the only reason God has me in Atlanta during this season, it's completely worth it.

Today's session was different than usual. My counselor led me in a time of healing prayer, asking God to help me face and then finally let go of the events that have deeply wounded my heart. And I'm not just talking about my husband's infidelity and abandonment. I'm also talking about childhood aches that have shaped my entire life.

It was hard, to say the least.

I cried. I forgave. I released. I surrendered. I asked the Lord to bring His freedom into the darkest corners of my heart.

I don't want to be an Indian giver. I don't want to take back what I've placed at His feet. I don't want to pick up again the burden of guilt and shame that He's taken from my hands. I want to live free.

I WANT TO LIVE FREE!

Sorry for yelling, but, well, that needed to be said loudly.

I don't know a formula for living wholly surrendered. I don't know the strategy to avoid taking back from God what I just gave over to Him. All I can do is continue to choose to live free. I have to keep making the choice to let go, to walk in forgiveness, to not embrace the guilt and shame that has become so second nature.

I'm praying for awareness. That I would recognize my old patterns the instant I slip back into them. So that I can, in that moment, choose freedom. Choose faith. Choose obedience.

This living sacrifice wants to stop crawling off the altar.

Because only in complete surrender am I fully free.

thirteen: steps to counseling

I walked into the office with a red cup of non-alcoholic liquid courage in my hands and two people next to me for moral support (or maybe to make sure I didn't turn and run). As I sat in the waiting area, I swear the pterodactyl-sized butterflies in my stomach had babies. I'd been anxious about this appointment since I boarded the way-too-small plane in DC, bound for Columbus. If I'm honest, I'd been anxious about this appointment since the moment I decided to come to America for this very reason. He stepped into the waiting room to introduce himself and "collect" me. As we exited together, I turned my head for a last glance at my smiling friend. I heard again her words from not thirty minutes before: "I am so proud of you." I smiled back and I'm sure it looked tentative and apprehensive. I don't have a very good poker face.

It was thirteen steps from that door to the couch in his office where I found a seat and spent the next hour. For me, for whom trust is paramount and yet not easily given, it was a daunting thing to bare my soul to a complete stranger. And yet, at the same time, I felt completely comfortable. I walked out feeling like a weight had been lifted: the weight of simply starting this thing. And I felt proud of myself.

Hi. My name is Alece. I'm a missionary. And I go to counseling.

eight: years and counting

Eight years ago I married the man of my dreams. I couldn't believe my luck---cause you know I believe in that sort of thing---I found a man of God who loves me and loves the people of Africa. It doesn't get much better than that! Our marriage has never been easy. I blame that on the fact that we work alongside each other in ministry every day and are from completely different cultures. And because I'm not the easiest person to live with.

Our marriage has always taken work, but so does everything else that I love. Every passion I have takes effort. My marriage is no exception.

And it's worth every ounce of relational sweat.

Right now, Niel and I need to work extra hard. For reasons that are unnecessary to share, we're in a place of needing to dig our heels in deep, and fight. Not each other, but together. For our marriage. And we're both committed to doing whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.

We looked each other in the eyes and committed to put our marriage first.