Before I opened my eyes this morning, there was a question that had quietly slipped into my thoughts.
I shrugged it away as I pulled my covers tighter and tried to hold on to the bliss that only sleep seems to bring these days.
Again, I hear it but I’m not ready to process it. So I get up, put on my coffee, grabbed my Bible, journal, and pen, and head out the back door to sit under my shed. It’s still quiet and a gentle breeze is blowing. The question lingers, waiting for an acknowledgment.
May I? Short and simple. May I?
Who or what is seeking my permission?
There is something so deep in this question, it requires me to search within, but it also leaves me with the option of dismissing it. It’s not forceful.
The Lord is asking permission to lead me into what I would call the “unknown”, to lead me to the other side of my fear. He is not one to drag me kicking and screaming but rather He gets my attention, He asks and then He waits.
Sometimes I watch my kids struggle with opening a jar. I’m willing to help, but I don’t just take it away from them and open it. May I? Most of the time, it’s a yes and I proceed to help.
The struggle brings awareness that I can only do so much before I realize that I can’t do it on my own. The fear reminds me that there is so much that I don’t know while at the same time it’s pushing me into the arms of the One who knows what’s on the other side and bids me to come.
What dreams do I need to give permission to take flight?
What needs my permission in order to be released?
Am I giving myself permission to dream?
What is being stripped of power because of lack of permission?
These are the questions that come as I sit here,
I don’t push them aside but I welcome them as I put them to paper and to heart.