Rise Up

I remember most the pavement. The silver stripe of the car running board giving way to the dark charcoal colored asphalt, with flecks of lighter gray throughout. I don't remember it being painful, as my parents tugged me back and forth, between the car and the street. I just remember staring at the floorboard of the old Maverick, the edge of the curb, the pavement. Back and forth, back and forth, as my mom tried to keep me in the vehicle while my dad worked to pull me from it in an epic game of tug-of-war. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds. I was breathless during those seconds, my face growing red as I helplessly watched the ends of my long blond hair hanging down, swaying over the floor of the car, then once again over the pavement.

They were not equipped. They couldn't manage the situation calmly, having a discussion about what was best for the children. They reacted from the gut. My father, thinking the latest abuse allegations were an opening for him to win, to conquer my mother and take something precious from her. My mother, afraid in her mama-bear heart that her precious children would be taken by a man who had already stolen so much from her. In that moment, my parents' responses were animal-like. Just the deepest, most instinctive knee-jerk movements of two people so broken and conflicted that they could only grasp and pull on what felt like their victory. But they were grasping and pulling on me, their child, a real person who would forever remember the way the pavement looked as her parents struggled.

I've been doing my own wrestling lately. Playing a daily game of tug-of-war inside my own brain. It's overwhelming sometimes, the power those instinctive thoughts and feelings can have over a person. It is easiest to let the habits and the instincts win. It is a fight to hold on to truth, when your brain is overrun by lies. It is easier to believe that I do not have my own value, but that my value is only in what I can do or be for another. My instinct says that I should not try, since nothing I do will be good enough or make a difference to anyone else. So the knee-jerk answer is to shut down, to give up, to let the battle rage on and to feel helpless to change anything. But the truth is that how I live my life each day makes a difference to me. And the truth is that I am valuable. I am not just a pawn in the great game of tug-of-war in the world. I can stand on my own two feet, and use my voice, and it matters.

When I consider that game of tug-of-war my parents played I consider my own powerlessness in that moment. I think about what I would do if I could go back to that day, when the forsythia was blooming along the driveway and the men were pushing and fighting one another and I stood by silently, letting my hair fall over my face to cover my eyes so I wouldn't really see everything. 

I want to go stand beside that girl, and sweep her hair out of her face, and whisper to her of her worth. I want to tell her that she has value far greater than she can understand. I want to show her the beauty of the forsythia; sweet, tiny yellow blooms formed by a Creator who cares about her so much more than each beautiful flower. I want to step back and watch her rise up, fill her lungs with air, and tell the world that she is not a victory to be won.

I can't go back to that day, but I can rise up now. I can sweep my hair back from my eyes, stop hiding and fill my lungs with air. I can break free from the tug-of-war being played inside my heart and my mind. I can stand tall and overcome and keep telling the stories of that precious girl, who needed to know her worth. I can rise up. And although I may feel like I am repeating myself, like the story is the same, I can keep telling it until I don't remember the pavement anymore. Until all the fear in my heart is replaced with Love. Until my knee-jerk reactions don't leave me in a worthless game of tug-of-war, because my own heart knows its worth. Until the image of that day is of a girl, standing tall and proud beside the forsythia bushes, knowing how much more beautiful she is than the sweet, yellow flowers of spring.

Do you know the feeling, this game of tug-of-war that seems incessant and constant and overwhelming? Perhaps you can see nothing but pavement today. It's possible you are being pulled in different directions by commitments and responsibilities, or by the story of your past, or by feelings that you'll never have enough, do enough or be enough. I want to stand beside you, too. I long for you to break free from the battle long enough to see all of the forsythia in bloom. Those bright yellow flowers, the first to rise up and herald the arrival of spring, are created for you to enjoy. And you are more valuable than those flowers to the heart of the One that created them. So rise up, friend. Even if you feel like the battle is on repeat and you're crying out with the same words, rise up. Rise up, again and again, victorious in the battle for your own heart, filling it up with truth and love.

It doesn't seem revolutionary, but it is. Each of us taking our place, owning our story, rising up out of the daily battle, walking with one another, doing our part to see the beauty in this world and spread it--this is how we change the world.

Click the link below for some beautiful inspiration and strength for today, because we rise up together.

Rise Up, by Andra Day