Counted Out

In a way, I am not much of a fighter.

In another, I am a guerilla waiting for my opportunity.

I refused to follow in generational footsteps.

I didn’t get pregnant as a teen.

I didn’t abandon my children.

I didn’t become an alcoholic.  Obviously, that’s still open to me if I choose.

I finished college.

Perhaps, that doesn’t seem like a victory because both my mother and father, demanded I stay in school, even though I really didn’t know what I wanted to do.  One of those people wanted to make sure I could get a good job and be off the books.  The other always expected nothing but failure from me and told me so.  And was always surprised when I didn’t fail per the prediction.

I did what I was told in school; I got results, as promised.

What. In. The. @#$%.

I didn’t even get pregnant in college.  Not that it’s a measure of anything, folk were just planning on it.

The trouble I got into?

Strictly PG-13.  OK, I dabbled in R, but it made my nerves bad.

Yeah, quite a rebel.

Graduating in the top 10% of the university.

Working a job.  Even if I was under-employed all the time for a little while.

Staying married.

How dare she?

Yeah, it was clear all along that every victory was unexpected.

From being good in school, to being good on a date.  From being hard working to being funny. From being thin to being able to dress well.

Total freaking shock.  Disappointment.

Years pass.

Slow years of working through that @#$% alone.  Anchored to my feelings of being unloved and not enough.


A fast year of learning to believe God.  FOR REAL.  Not just believing in Him.

Just when the harvest of the peaceful fruit is starting to ripen…

when I’m learning to dance in the rain.

when I’m able to share with someone else.

And able to believe what He says about loving His own refers to me.

Comes a voice from the past.  A cakehole, who doesn’t know anything about me, reads me like a book and hits the chink in the armor.  The laser hits the processor.  I am debilitated.  Fighting unseen hands that would reclaim me to that dark place I was never meant to inhabit.

I will not surrender the battle.

Having drunk of the joy,

danced to the song,

worn the garment.

Having taken my seat at the table, I will not take up the burden of my own salvation, again.

I won’t own failures that aren’t mine; I won’t be nailed to a cross for someone else’s sin.

I won’t withhold forgiveness from someone who seems to never have felt the Father’s love.

I will walk in the green pasture.  Beside the Stillwater.

My soul restored.

It might hurt.  It could bleed.

When they counted me out, their math was bad.

They forgot to factor in the truth.

It sets you free.


Algebra: post high school use.
















  1. Amen. Love this. As always.

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