press in

Press in, lovely one.

When your every sensibility is urging you to turn and walk out, press in.

Press in to the hard things. The fear that you are not and will never be good enough. The insecurity that comes with being weighed and found always wanting. The worry that all your best efforts will inevitably be laid bare and disdained by some, or even all. 

The fear, the insecurity, the worry; they come with an inexhaustible number of relatives. Press in and watch them all open arms wide to envelop you. Let them wash over you, but do not breathe them into your lungs. Let them be, but do not let them in.

Hard things will always be, and you will always have two options.

You can try to outrun them. You can distract and numb. You can lose yourself in people and food and liquor and work and entertainment and accomplishments and a truly endless stream of motion. You can run, stumbling forward and losing your footing over them just when you thought they were behind you. Forever dreading the moment when their vines wrap round your ankle and bring you crashing down again.

You can try to outrun them, the hard thoughts and suffocating feelings and untameable things.

Or you can press in. You can choose to simply be, and breathe, and feel. You can reach out to your weaknesses, your destructive desires, your false narratives, your perceived identity, your wealth of unnamed gods. You can press in, you can taste, touch, see, hear, feel, and name them…and you can drag them to the Father.

But you can’t do that while you’re trying to outrun them on your own.

Hard things will always be, and you will always have two options.

You can try to outrun them, or you can press in.

Press in, lovely one.

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