To bestow on them

27 Sunday May 2012

Posted by in Bible, Christianity, Church

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A couple of weeks ago I listened to a sermon at church, which mentioned God talking to Moses. That was very rare indeed in the Old Testament. The priests were chosen by God to offer gifts to God and serve him with all of their lives. People went to God via the priests.

There’s this concept in Christianity called the priesthood of all believers. It means that, thanks to Jesus, we can all be near God’s presence all the time and that he speaks to all of us. It means that we are to give God our gifts and serve him with all of our lives. When I was with a small group of Christian friends recently we got to chatting about what this means. What do these priests do? I pondered aloud that I think it means that we are to be Christ to people, we are to be Christ’s love to people, to sad, hurting, lonely, grieving, despairing people.

A day later I went to a Thing. It was a massive gathering of Christians to celebrate Pentecost. Thousands of people singing to praise God, what more could I ask for? But there was more. There were these words on a screen:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, 
    because he has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
    and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
    to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”

It’s from Luke’s Gospel and it’s something Jesus said. He was quoting from the Old Testament and he said that the scripture was fulfilled. In other words, something said by some bloke called Isaiah quite a while back was referring to him. Jesus did what he was annointed to do. And it refers to all Christians now. Jesus also said this:

Whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. (John 14:12)

Last summer I went to another Thing, also with thousands of Christians singing and praising God. I felt so sad because I couldn’t feel God’s love and doubted that he loves me. I cried and prayed to God that I would feel him near me. He answered my prayer and I haven’t been the same since. I don’t always feel him near me but sometimes I do. I doubt things about God but I have been pulled close to him time and time again, reassured constantly that I am loved.

At this Thing last week one of the leaders prayed that the people there who did not know that God loved them, who did not feel God’s love for them, that God would be close to them and that they would feel his love. I smiled because I am not now one of those people. Now I have a different prayer. I want to be God’s love to other people.

Fast forward a week to this morning. Feeling a bit flat, a bit bruised and not feeling at all like going to church. Eventually I dragged myself unwillingly out of bed and went, grudgingly. When we came to look at the Bible, mine fell open at Isaiah 61, the passage that Jesus was quoting from. I stared, surprised. Then the person reading said to turn to Isaiah 61, and that the sermon would be on that very passage.

I was suddenly very glad that I had gone to church. God inspired that woman and I hope her words touched every single person in the room. The words from Isaiah are for every Christian, they are for me. Jesus quoted a very small section of that passage. Isaiah 61 says far more, giving us a vision of the sort of people we are to be. It talks about binding up the brokenhearted, comforting those who mourn:

To bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes, 
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning, 
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.

Hard memories have been confronting me recently, memories of being hurt. Memories of loving someone and being rejected. Memories of being the target of someone’s extreme rage and fear. These memories make me want to curl up into a ball and keep God’s love to myself.

But that is not what God called me to do. His love is not meant to be hidden away. Two and a half years ago I knew it, so I sent flowers to the person who tore me to shreds. This isn’t me, I can’t do it on my own. I can be Christ’s love now because I know that I too am loved by Christ. His love for me is not in the past tense, it’s not something he did for me a couple of thousand years ago and that’s it, a nice story to look back on. He loves me now, he is behind and before me, encircling me.

So although I have faltered recently and seriously considered retreating back into my shell, determined never to let anyone hurt me like that again, I remain convinced that I am here for the sole purpose of dedicating my entire life to loving others as Christ loves me. The church needs to wake up. This is what the priesthood of all believers is, for all of us to preach good news to the poor, to free trapped, bound, oppressed and broken people, to comfort those who mourn and hurt. Ashes to beauty, mourning to joy, despair to praise. This is hard, it’s really hard and will bring more bruises. But God has spoken. This is Christ’s love and he will have his way in the church, he will have his way in me for the display of his splendour.

She cried. Then she cried again.

20 Sunday May 2012

Posted by in Christianity, Church, Life, the Universe and Everything

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Well, feck me, I’m tired. Sleep, it was not good last night. So I walked into church this morning ready to eat anyone who came into contact with me. Or ready to cry. I went with the latter.

I was singing in the band this morning and I panicked a bit a lot that I wasn’t going to make it through the service. I abandoned the practice beforehand and sat in a dark corridor. When that failed to restore some semblance of control, I sought out a woman who has been brilliant with me for the last few years. I referred to her on my old blog as Lovely Lady and the name stands. I told her I was going to cry and I had to sing in front of about 100 people.

She whipped me into a small room, saw someone else was in there but shrugged and wrapped me in a massive hug anyway. She prayed that I would fix my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith. That I would remember that I was singing for me and for my Lord, not for anyone else. She smiled at me and I smiled back.

I managed almost the whole service. The words of one song broke my resolve and I couldn’t keep singing.

My hope provides me with a spur
To help me run this race
I know my tears will turn to joy
The day I see his face
The day I see his face

I don’t know why I worried about crying in front of the whole church. I did cry in front of the whole church and it was absolutely fine. I think they’ve been desensitised to it, after I cried in almost every service for months when I was depressed last year! They’re far more accepting and caring than I give them credit for.

Crying when certain words of songs touch me in church is actually good. God touches somewhere inside me and releases something. Sometimes it’s sadness, sometimes it’s hope. It could be anything. Today it was a very big, messy mix. But it’s nothing to worry about.

There’s a lot going on right now. Impulsivity combined with shame is turning me into a neurotic wreck. A neurotic wreck who still can’t keep her big mouth shut. Emotions have come crashing in. Memories have come crashing in. Love has come crashing in but it’s being attacked by massive fears.

It’s all a bit much really. And a few hours ago I rescued a little bird from the clutches of my cat. It just died and I feel really sad. I can’t bear to see animals suffering and I’m following in my mum’s footsteps, holding little birds as they die from cat induced shock.

And I’ve just found out it’s my sister-in-law’s due date today. I’m going to be an aunty soon. This is good. This is good. This is good. I’m sad though and I think I’m going to cry again.

All the opposites

12 Saturday May 2012

Posted by in Anxiety, Bipolar, Mental Illness

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I just posted a tweet and then tried to retract it which shows just what a contradictory person I am. I’ve been thinking today about all the things I do and I have come to the conclusion that actually I do them quite well. I feel quite good about it. My response in my head was “OMG, I’m awesome”. Then I tweeted it. Then I thought “OMG, I’m an arrogant cow”.

I decided yesterday that I need to look after myself better and to do that I need to be a bit more assertive with my boss, rather than trundling along telling everyone I’m fine and not giving myself a break at all. I spoke to our disability/diversity person at work, who we shall call Ms. Win, for she is made of it. She suggested I write a tactful but assertive email to my boss saying what I need, reminding her that my condition is long term and sometimes it takes a bit more effort to manage it, like when I’m bloody knackered. Tiredness manifests itself as depression. That does not make me weak.

Today… Well, today I think maybe I won’t write that email after all, because really everything is fine. I’ll have a nap or two this weekend and I’ll be zooming along at warp speed again by Monday. Condition, what condition? Heh, that slipped out to Ms. Win yesterday. I was rewarded with a raised eyebrow.

For you see, I have been considering coming off the Lamotrigine when I’ve finished this MA. Not sure about this whole Bipolar thingy. I think I’ll be fine without meds, it could actually be meds that caused the problems in the first place. Again with the raised eyebrow. Followed by a DO NOT COME OFF YOUR MEDS.

It’s easy to forget. I forget what it felt like. I forget what I thought. Reading back on my blog (most of which is private now) freaked me out a bit this week. I know I was anxious this time last year, I know I crashed a bit and ended up hiding under the duvet for a couple of weeks. But the posts indicate I was pretty depressed actually and I don’t remember that. It was like I was reading someone else’s blog.

I’m not feeling well. I feel fine. I used to be quite ill really. I was never ill, it was a figment of my imagination or something. Or I overreacted. I need to stay on medication, for it helps me. I should come off medication because it’s completely unnecessary.

Underneath this, of course, is the ever-present longing to lose weight. This damn drug has whacked on the weight. Or is that because I’m a lazy cow? I just need to exercise more. But it’ll have to wait until after I finish studying because I only have so much will power to go around. Fat fat fat. Ditch the drug.

And an even unhealthier desire. Apparently. I want my highs back. You know that Queen song, Don’t Stop Me Now? I used to feel like that, and whenever I hear that song now I feel sad. It was my song. I do know that every high was followed by a crash and the higher the high, the worse the crash. But it wasn’t that bad. I mean, maybe sometimes it was a bit crap. But when those people sternly order me to stay on medication, they are overreacting a bit.

This post isn’t actually about coming off meds, so let’s not get into that too much. If it happens it won’t be for a while anyway. I’m just writing today about my own contradictory opinions and memories. Flashes here, gaps there. About ten years ago I had an interview at a university. The man interviewing me said after about 20 minutes that I was one of the most complicated people he’d ever met. In that 20 minutes I had shown him that I am absolutely full of opposites and he had no idea how they all fit together to make one person. He said I was fascinating. My old therapist said exactly the same thing. He had to work hard to know how to relate to me. I think he did a good job, but when we said goodbye I apologised for being a pain in the arse. He beamed at me and said it had been a pleasure. I guess contradictory/contrary/difficult cow isn’t all bad then.

Contradictory. I’m awesome. I’m an arrogant cow. I’m super confident. I’m incredibly insecure. I’m the biggest extrovert on the planet. I’m an introvert who loves nothing better than being left alone with a book and some loud music. I doubt every element of my belief in God constantly, question his very existence. But God sings to me and smiles at me every day and I’m convinced of it. I feel down a lot. I feel excited a lot. How do these opposites fit into one person? I have absolutely no idea. It causes me a fair amount of distress at times, like now, but I’m a lot more content with it than I used to be.

Weak? Or just free? Or both?

09 Wednesday May 2012

Posted by in Anxiety, Bipolar, Christianity, Mental Illness

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I have crashed quite spectacularly. I can’t describe it and I don’t think I want to. It was inevitable, but I was too busy preparing for the essay and exam that I didn’t prepare for the crash.

Three good people held me together yesterday: Hubby, my dad and Wendy. But they all said I should be looking after myself better, perhaps taking even a short amount of time off work. I can’t, I honestly can’t. I can’t be that person anymore. The one who breaks under stress.

I’m going against all my instincts, and apparently other people’s instincts too. Being a stubborn cow, to put it bluntly. I did nearly break today though. I work from home on Fridays, but I’ve had to give that up this week and next, for the simple reason that academics can’t walk for 15 minutes to collect bits of paper. I have to travel for three hours just to collect those bits of paper for them. I like this time of year at work and mostly am happy to go the extra mile. But doing that when I’m more exhausted than I’ve been in a year, well, I nearly cried when my boss told me this today.

She left early today. And yesterday. Having a child is the perfect get-out-of-work-early card. I came so close to asking if I could go home too. Instead, I smiled at her as she happily walked out of the office.

Feeling crap is my own fault. See above for stubborn cow. Thing is, I recognise this pattern. A quick scroll through last year’s blogposts indicates a repeating pattern. Too much stress, being knackered and refusing to give myself a break – well, it can’t lead to anything good. Yesterday, I fell asleep on the train home from work, crawled into bed and slept all night, then fell asleep on the train this morning. And then on the tube. I have no idea how I made it to work. The same thing happened on the way home tonight. Hubby has tried to force me into bed early but I need to get some thoughts out or they’ll eat at my mind all night.

I recognise that I am repeating a pattern that doesn’t often ever end well. I know I’m far too tired. I know anxiety eventually pulls me into depression. I know I am being incredibly stubborn. I had actually forgotten how bad things got last year. Yes, there was anxiety, there were some bad heart flip-outs. But I had forgotten that I ended up in such a state that I couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t talk to my boss and hubby had to call in sick for me. Thankfully, I recovered well but it happened.

It cannot happen again. Therefore, one would think that the sensible thing to do is to head it off at the pass now. But, again with the stubborn. I know I feel like shit, everything is distorted, every thought, every feeling. I also know that if I don’t say something now it will go unnoticed at work until it is too late. My boss noticed something was up yesterday but she was satisfied when I told her I’m tired but fine. I’m known in my family for being a fantastic liar.

See all that above? Insight combined with a stubborn refusal to do anything about it. At the same time, I also want to come off the Lamotrigine because I’m not convinced I have Bipolar. Maybe a slight tendency towards mild depression. Yes, I have been reminded of some not-exactly-normal thoughts from a year or so ago. I’d forgotten them. Those friends who insist on remembering stuff. Great, aren’t they? Grrrr.

Also? Really, the main issue here is that I am weak. But also strong. It’s hard to explain that one. One side of my brain tells me that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, that I’m just a weak person who needs to slap herself a bit and get a grip. The other side says, look at all your notes, remember all that shit, remember the misery and humiliation of the last few years. That’s because something isn’t right.

The two combine into my stubborn refusal to give myself a break. If I am weak then I need to power on through and prove to myself and everyone else that I am not weak anymore. If I have this illness thingy, then I also have to power on through and prove that I am strong and able to cope with it, I need to not give myself any reason to feel more shame.

I read a blogpost yesterday, asking if crying indicates weakness. Absolutely not, is my answer. Hubby is very emotional and cries easily. I love him more for it. But I am humiliated if I cry. I hold those treacherous tears back as hard as I can, until they insist on running down my face without my authorisation. Is anything about me weak? Does Bipolar (if I have it) make me weak? Crying? Anxiety? A heart that beats too fast and hurts my chest? Is this weakness? Yes. Definitely. Am I therefore weak? Me, the real me? Am I weak?

Anyway… I know the answer. The answer is no. But my brain has trouble with that. I am weak. It’s been shouted at me. It’s not true, but really it is. Bloody hell, is it any wonder I’m knackered when I do this to myself?

So. After all this incredibly (I’m so tired I had to use spellcheck to remind me how to spell incredibellendy) circular waffling, I have to come back to singing, as always. Just keep singing. Just keep singing. Just keep singing, singing, singing. I feel squashed, chained, but I am actually free. Feelings have absolutely nothing to do with it, which is a good thing, given how unreliable mine are:

Where the spirit of the Lord is
There is freedom

Lift Your eyes to heaven
There is freedom

Freedom reigns in this place
Showers of mercy and grace

Falling on every face
There is freedom

If You’re tired and thirsty
There is freedom

Give Your all to Jesus
There is freedom

Freedom reigns in this place
Showers of mercy and grace

Falling on every face
There is freedom

If your burden’s heavy
He brings freedom

If you’re hurt and broken
He brings freedom

Freedom reigns in this place
Showers of mercy and grace

Falling on every face
There is freedom

Great is Your faithfulness
Great is Your faithfulness

Great Expectations

07 Monday May 2012

Posted by in Life, the Universe and Everything, Studying

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I’m feeling a bit blue. I’ve worked so hard that now I feel like a deserve a holiday. One bank holiday doesn’t really count. Tomorrow I go back to work and have to start thinking about the dissertation. No holiday for me. Bit of a pity party going on here.

So I’m going to grump a bit. No, I’m not going to list all the things that are good (although some things really are) and instead I’m going to flop around on the sofa feeling sorry for myself because it’s already 4pm so my last day of freedom is slipping fast away from me.

People told me to really enjoy this weekend off, I told myself I’d really enjoy this weekend off. I could do anything I want. I could lie in bed reading my book, I could watch as much Star Trek as I wanted. And I have. Well, not Star Trek, I went for Star Wars instead. And I read a bit of my book, not too much though because my concentration has left the country. It’s gone on holiday, the git. I’ve done some other good stuff which I’ve enjoyed.

But it hasn’t been the Weekend of Win like I thought it might be. That’s because it had become some sort of wondrous, mythical island in my mind. My goal in life was to finish the exam and then have the best weekend ever, coming out at the end of it invigorated and ready to return to life.

Bollocks to that. Some difficult things popped up. There was to be no difficulty this weekend. I feel a bit crap really, my eyes are still burning with tiredness (and from some crying – bah to the blues!) and I don’t want to go to work tomorrow. And this is the problem with really looking forward to something. With bigging something up in your mind until it becomes impossible to achieve. It just can’t live up to your expectations. It’s happened over and over again and I never learn.

Now I have to pick myself up. So when I said I’m not going to list all the good things, that was a bit rubbish really. I’m not going to list them all here. But I have spent time this weekend talking with some very good friends. There have been cuddles. There has been banter on the internet. INTERNET FTW. I’m listening to Jesus Culture right now, the band I mentioned a couple of posts back. Loud. It can help to drown out negative or anxious thoughts. It can drive back tears and bring a smile to my face.

The blues haven’t disappeared yet but there is singing. I love singing. So the great expectations didn’t entirely work out. They never do. Get over it, Narky. And sing.

[And also get my lightsaber out and smite anyone who annoys me.]

Filled with bright, shimmering, golden liquid

04 Friday May 2012

Posted by in Christianity, Church, Life, the Universe and Everything

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Ten years ago a woman from my church prayed with me. As she prayed an image came into her head. A heart full of holes. Those holes caused such pain. They were permanent holes. They would not simply close up. In her mind the holes were not stitched, they were filled. Jesus slowly filled them with himself. Each hole was filled with bright, shimmering, golden liquid.

Two years ago a woman from my church prayed with me. As she prayed an image came into her head. A heart wrapped, entwined, trapped in barbed wire, piercing more holes. Jesus slowly cut through the barbed wire.

I was very distressed when these women prayed with me. One was young, one was older. One was from a large, charismatic church in central London. One was from a medium sized, subdued church in suburbia. Both saw the state of my heart. In each image the heart was left filled completely, healthier and more beautiful than it had ever been before. It was free.

The therapist I saw a couple of years ago was really into images. The images we hold of ourselves are so important. So a person who suffers from extreme shyness may have an image of themselves blushing inside their head, and this image can paralyse them. I had images of myself in my head. One of a girl curled up under a table. Curled tight into a ball. Hiding. Pleading with the world to leave her alone.

Another image of myself that I held in my head for so many years was of a skinny, ugly, weird looking girl. People pointed at her when she walked into a room. They laughed at her. She found a seat as quickly as possible and tried to pretend she was invisible.

That is a hard image to get out of my head. I always think people are laughing at me. That skinny, ugly, weird looking girl was sometimes stuck to a wall, but sometimes she behaved differently. I don’t have an image for her because I don’t remember her. I have been told about her. She sounded more fun. I cultivated an image I don’t even remember. Larger than life. Who cares if you’re ugly, right? If you can make people laugh?

So for years I have tried to form a new image for myself. I want to be someone else, please let me be someone else. Maybe I can be warm and caring, like my mum. Maybe I can be calm and collected, like my step-mum. Maybe I can be the life and soul, like my dad. Maybe I can be the bookworm of my childhood? Which one though?

And slowly my heart became filled with more holes. Every time someone pointed at me a new hole was formed. Every time someone laughed at me a new hole was formed. Eventually that heart had very little holding it together. So its owner did something very stupid. She lost herself completely. She desperately tried to cling to something. To someone. To someone she didn’t even know. To someone who was not trustworthy at all. And now she has a new image in her head.

This image is of a woman lying on her back. She stares at the ceiling. She waits for it to finish. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t wince. She just waits. And afterwards she cleans herself up. But forever she remains lying on her back. Nothing can erase this image.

And through it all? A heart full of holes, wrapped tighter and tighter in barbed wire. One day the woman meets someone who loves her so much. This love does not erase the images. The woman is still a skinny, ugly, weird looking girl. She is still lying on her back waiting for everything to stop. But she loves someone now. And she slowly opens into someone else. She is loved and she loves in return. The image now is of a woman smiling.

But she can’t erase the ugly girl who tried to be invisible. She can’t erase the woman lying on her back staring at the ceiling. She can’t erase the woman cleaning herself up. She loves more people. And she loses them all. She hurts so much. That ugly girl gets bigger. The loss, the hurt, the grief threatens to overwhelm her. The woman loses herself completely all over again. She fights and panics. But really, she just lies on her back and waits for it all to finish.

The woman is now looking back and realising that the holes are being filled with bright, shimmering, golden liquid. The barbed wire has been cut. She knows this because she is making new friends. And she loves it. She laughs a lot. She’s scared a lot but she isn’t running away. She isn’t lying on her back waiting for it all to be over. She can’t erase those awful, awful images of herself. Perhaps she never will. But the real images, the images she never made for herself, but the images that other people saw. They grow.

Now it’s time to move. It’s time to love. That heart is being filled with bright, shimmering, golden liquid for a reason. That heart is being filled with Jesus for a reason. That reason is to love. It is time to stop being afraid. It’s time to love new friends. People who have been hurt in so many different ways. It’s time to love them and be loved by them. It’s time to enjoy them.

It’s also time to be brave. More brave than just making new friends. But to try to love an old friend. A friend who hurt me so badly. A friend who reinforced the image of the skinny, ugly, weird looking girl. Who reinforced the image of the woman who just lies on her back waiting for it all to be over. It’s time to love that friend again. The love has never gone, but it has been hiding. It has been crying, grieving, licking its wounds. It’s time to love again, even though I may never be loved in return.

It’s time. Jesus is filling my heart with himself. His love. That love is not meant to be kept to myself, locked in a box, protected in case of further hurt. It has to go and love others and try to cut through the barbed wire around their hearts, to fill the holes in their hearts.

Arms Wide Open

03 Thursday May 2012

Posted by in Anxiety, Bible, Christianity, Studying

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Imagine a woman turning slowly round and round and round, arms spread wide, face looking up, singing, radiant smile all over her face. As I listened to music the morning of the exam it slowly penetrated my anxiety and filled me with a smile.

Was so nervous. Always so nervous. Doesn’t matter how prepared I am, nothing helps. But time has told it’s story for me. Every year I freak out completely, lose control of my emotions … but something happens just before the exam. Those are precious moments. I sat on the floor outside the exam room, back against a wall, beautifully enveloped in the knowledge that my best friend loves me completely, he wraps me in love all the time, whether I feel it or not. He is always with me, behind me, before me, encircling me.

This is joy. My whole being is safe with God, so I have no need to fear anything, not even a scary exam. Of course, I have a lousy memory, so I always forget, but it’s brought back time and time again.

It doesn’t eclipse everything. The crap is there. The anxiety is there alongside the joy, they’re mixed all together, all the contradictions rolled into one. Bit like me.

Romans 12:12 Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.

Joy, hope, patience, affliction, faithfulness, prayer. Mashed together. Stumbling through. Coming back to work so soon after the exam is hard. Massive amounts of adrenaline coursing through my body yesterday, slowing myself down to bring back memories of colour-coded notes:

The adrenaline wears off and the exhaustion sets in, which is where I’m at today. But I have to use my leave very carefully. Each day needs to be used very specifically. If I had taken today off I would have had to work the day after I submit my dissertation, and really, that day will be used for sleeping off a hangover. You’d think it would be enough to spend today at my desk feeling sleepy. But about an hour ago I suddenly started shaking, I want to punch something, scratch my skin off, curl up into a ball and wait for this to pass. None of which are acceptable when you share an office with a ‘normal’ person. For that matter, is scratching your skin off acceptable anywhere? I could at least retreat under the duvet there. I need my duvet.

I don’t even have any benzos with me. I left them in yesterday’s bag. The exam is over! It’s over and it went well. I should be fine. But this has always been my biggest concern. Sustained stress makes it so much harder to crawl my way back. Can I please cry? I knew I shouldn’t have put eyeliner on today.

The joy remains. It remains because it wasn’t the fleeting pleasure that comes upon realising that the worry was for nothing. It floated over me before the exam, while I was still scared out of my mind that I wouldn’t remember any Arabic words. It’s real. So it’s still here. The revolving woman with her arms spread wide is still inside my head. She’s shaking a bit now and her eyes have closed to block out the intrusions, but she’s still turning, still singing.

Yesterday and today I focus on a simple breathing meditation, given to me by LittleFeet two years ago.

Breathe in: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Father.
Breathe out: Have mercy on us.

Over and over and over. It penetrates my speeding thoughts, my panic, it holds back the tears threatening to spill over. I can’t bring myself down, I don’t know how, I’ve never known how. I learned how to control panic attacks a long time ago, it’s rare for me to succumb completely. But this is harder, it’s some sort of overload and I can’t reason myself out of it. Which is why I’m writing now. Write, breathe, repeat the two simple sentences over again, and listen to music. 

Again, thanks go to LittleFeet. A song she has on repeat in her confusion and distress:

It’s beautiful and true, so true. It’s on repeat for me now too. I’m safe. I’m free. I’m falling in love, astonished by beauty, truth and grace and love.

Here I am before you
Falling in love and seeking your truth
Knowing that your perfect grace
Has brought me to this place
Because of you I freely live
My life to you, oh God, I give

So I stand before You, God
I lift my voice because you set me free

So I shout out your name
From the rooftops I proclaim
That I am Yours, I am yours

All the good You’ve done for me
I lift up my hand up hands for all to see
You’re the only one
Who brings me to my knees
To share this love across the earth
The beauty of Your Holy Word

So I kneel before You, God
I lift my hands because you set me free

So I shout out your name
From the rooftops I proclaim
That I am Yours, I am Yours

All that I am I place into Your loving hands
And I am Yours, I am Yours

Here I am, I stand with arms wide open
To the one, the Son, the everlasting God

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