From this morning’s journal entry:

Context:  I’ve been babysitting these last few days and was getting overwhelmed by my own desire to introduce them to a world outside of themselves.  Leaving them to the electronic toys they crave, I escaped to the other room to have my own cravings filled.

I just pictured someone finding me here & asking what I’m up to.  I’m worshipping- becoming refreshed b/c honey- you don’t want to mess with me unless I’ve had time with Jesus.

Without His power I’m stuck relying on my own & I’m irritable, cranky & overwhelmed by feelings of utter incompetence because I’m stuck knowing His standards & expectations, but unable to enforce them, even for myself.


A spirit of hopelessness rushes over me when I haven’t had time with Him because I’ve seen too much of His grace to discount His joy, I crave it – even more than you crave that tv & think life isn’t worth living without it.


This isn’t an easy life- becoming a slave to an amazing master who feeds & blesses & welcomes me into His family as one of His very own is in some ways harder than being a slave outside because my previous owner lets me think I’m free – until I start to enjoy – or long to enjoy true company, real relationships.


He satiates me with entertainment – feeds me junk food – gives me a quick pat on the shoulder when all I want is a hug.


He makes me think I’m free – free to eat whenever, whatever, gorge on whatever I’d like, put my clothes on the ground – be the slob I was created to be.


In fact – I’m not free to clean up because I’m not allowed to have standards for anyone else – I’m not allowed to scream at anyone else to get their smelly feet out of my face & turn down their music before my ears go numb because they are free too & I have no control over anyone – including myself.


I am a slave to my addictions & my master likes it like that – he depends on it staying like that because his purpose is to destroy me.  He wants me to be a slave to as many things, ideas, cravings as possible because a man cannot be slave to two masters – never mind 3 or 4 or 6.


It will  destroy me.  The music will numb my ears into oblivion – I may not be able to hear, but the assertions that I’m to “party like a rock star” will be so engrained into my head that I won’t be able to escape.

Everywhere will seem overwhelming because everywhere will be a disappointment.  I won’t be able to escape my fears because they follow me – echoing in my head.  But now my master is good, kind, infinitely mysterious and He always has a new trick, a new treat, good sweets are constantly appearing behind the ears of neighborhood children.  My new master encourages me to call Him Daddy.  He bought me – at a high price too – much higher than I warrant – but He says I’m free.  Free to go but encouraged to sit around His table.


His table has rules – unlike the old room where we all ate whatever, whenever, there are expectations at this table.  I’m expected to ask to be excused & before I can leave I’m expected to clear the table.  He gives me jobs – little ones, constantly growing but still small – yesterday He had me clean out the dishwasher for the first time – but with those jobs there’s a sense of belonging.


My old master would definitely notice if I was gone – he’d be furious, but my Daddy grieves.  He comes & looks for me not to drag me by the ear & put me into a cell – that basement cupboard, the attic, the room full of other screaming kids – but to clean me up, hug me.


Not until I am cozy in a bed he set aside for me – one I enter into freely – does He discuss punishment.  He explains the dangers, explains the consequences, explains my choices.  I’m still free to go, but why would I want to?

His arms wrap around me; I no longer shiver.


I still don’t trust him, but I appreciate the place to stay.  Others steal from Daddy – just like my old master who enslaves all those runaways, Daddy has lots of us & yet He manages to clone Himself or something because each one of us has Him – if not all to ourselves all the time – shared with relatively few others.

The table is small – mine fits 5 of us – but I know of those who’s table fits 11-12.


My Daddy is good & He’s charged other good pe- no.  Other rotten souls who have been transformed by His goodness to raise me just as He would.


Soon I’ll leave this table & be assigned my own – with little ones that He’s paid for in full & is entrusting to me to not let them run off to the enslaver that tricks them into thinking he has a right to hold their leash.


Just like my Daddy ran after me I’m to run after them, not to hold them by the ear – force them into submission, but to offer hope.


No one can be a slave to two master – choose ye this day who you will serve


The bold part was typed in by the little girl I watch- she came over and sat right next to me, cuddled and expressed interest in writing her own story once I’m done.


The Lord has His ways of refreshing us and taking care of everything else in the meantime.