Part One: Religious Choke-Hold

Here I sit with so many things I want to put into words. Words that won't come. I don't know where to start, or how to end, I only know that if I don't speak I'll explode. Or maybe it's the opposite. Maybe something inside me has exploded and I need to heal. For me, writing is healing, so long as the words are gifted to the reader (or writer) in such a way, they leave behind trimmings of celebration. Streamers of love and banners of compassion. Gifts of grace and hugs so big they could wrap up any hurt or fear.

I need a full-on Grace Celebration.

This post has been coming for a while. At least a good year. Maybe three...or ten??? During this time, I've devoured books, clung to Scripture, and prayed for the clouds of uncertainty to part. I've looked religion in the face and cringed when I saw it had fangs. What I'd once found comfortable was devouring me heart first. Sure, I'd felt its hot breath on my neck before, but I'd keep convincing myself that the familiar was my comfort zone, no matter how dangerous it might look at times. Years and years of twisted "truth" had sprouted roots and grown thorny vines around my heart and mind. I simply couldn't see for all of the prickly foliage. It truly had very deep roots. It still does, but I'm fighting back the weeds, even pulling them with my teeth if necessary.

I'm sick of the choke-hold.


Why do I have the feeling that you are too?

Through every scrape and thorn, walking over a multitude of lying snakes and pesky bugs, tripping over my own blindness and stubborn will...

He still had his hand on me.

And He'd wept in that garden, too. 

He knew the thorns that would tear at my ankles and peel away the layers of my heart. He's breathed warnings and tried to show me the way out, but I kept going in circles, until I finally collapsed at His feet. I handed him the poisonous vial of religion and wretched from the bottom of my soul. Yes, Jesus was (is) my Savior, but I'd allowed an imposter to dictate my thoughts and deeds. I wasn't following the Gardener, I was following the snake.

Religion.

Please know this: It's not been all bad. As with all things in this fallen world, God can use anything or anyone to bring his sheep into the fold.

It's not been all bad.

Isn't it strange how evil things tend to dig fastest into Heart's soil, masking the light that good things need to grow? Yes, the seeds were planted, even growing, but growth was stunted due to lack of light. Without full view of the Light, this little plant was weak. Oh, so weak and weary. Every time I'd lean into the Gardener's touch, the Accuser would remind me of what a pathetic sapling I was.

As in Scripture, I would hear such lies: "When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is-that she is a sinner." (Luke 7:39)

She. Is. A. Sinner.

I'd cower in the shade of religious tangles, trying to make sense of it all. Nothing was adding up. Nothing seemed to fit. This Jesus of the Bible was not the Jesus I'd seen in Sunday School, or even church (most of my life). Yes...yes! I'd caught beautiful glimpses of him and I understood grace. But the shadows were casting gray hues over my eyes, and I felt heavy. Weak.

This did not add up!

 "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)


Light? If this was true, why did I feel as if the weight of the world, the religious world, was breaking my tiny branches? Why did I fear that the first wind which came along would toss me across the fields? Yet I knew Scripture to be Truth, because the Gardener was holding my roots firmly. His warm hand never left my head. He had covered me from the cold shade of the Accuser. That evil one who used the Gardener's words and twisted them into crowns of deceit. Thorny crowns. My Savior took that crown for me, and I will not have anything to do with lies that want to poison my heart!

Oh, Jesus, please lead me through this place! I can do anything as long as you are walking with me. I know you'll pull the thorns from my heart, and reveal the roses of your truth. Please continue to prune and trim away the lies.

One of the many, many books that have helped me along the way is Beautiful Outlaw by John Eldredge.  I will literally get on my knees and beg you to read this book, if that's what it takes. Especially if you are not a Christian, or if you are a burnt-out Believer. I'd buy a copy for every person I know, if I could. You'll need to take off your religion tinted glasses before reading it. If you do read it, will you let me know? Please? :) I'd love to hear your thoughts.


This is Part One of I don't know how many posts. There are many things I'd like to discuss, but none of it will make any sense if religious fog is choking out the view. I hope that you will come back. 

As always...

Cheering you on & checking the fuel gauge,
Layla