Following the Light: Thoughts on Living in Christ’s Freedom

“It’s all in your head,” I remember telling myself.

I didn’t want my struggling to be real, so I kept it hidden.

I wanted to fake it ’til I made it, but I could only keep that cover for so long.

You can’t run from your pain

The instance above has played out in my life too often. For as long as possible, I would try to deny that I was having a hard time…

Until I couldn’t deny it anymore.

It was as if acknowledging my struggles made them feel too real. I was never ready to face them, so I would try to run.

I would try to run from my struggles until I couldn’t run anymore. It was all just in my head, I would say. And then I would overwork myself.

It can be easier to keep stacking up mileage than to acknowledge that your body is feeling off. It can be easier to bury yourself in homework than to let yourself feel your loneliness.

Sometimes overworking yourself can feel like a way of numbing the pain. You’re too busy and exhausted to even stop and realize that you hurt.

You can’t outrun your pain. It will all catch up with you at some point.

I learned–the hard way–that refusing to take care of myself in these situations did me a lot more harm than good.

In the beginning, it would always seem fine. In eighth grade, this run-away-from-it-all coping method led me to overtraining and malnourishment (not a good combination, as I would later find out).

I still remember how it felt in the earlier stages. This sense of euphoria masked the fact that I was destroying my body.

But that euphoria was fake.

My struggles were real.

And when the euphoria faded away, those struggles had the chance to take center stage. When that happened, I broke apart.

I didn’t know how to pick up my broken pieces. Instead of denying my struggles, I coped with the opposite method–dwelling in them completely.

Living as a victim

At that point, all I could see–and feel–were the chains holding me back.

And I was ready to give up hope.

Living as a victim happens when your struggles, failures, weaknesses, and setbacks become who you are in your mind.

You can’t see yourself ever getting out of the valley, so you don’t even try anymore.

It reminds me of that passage in Numbers 13 when the Israelites let their own fear get in the way entering the Promised Land.

They had wandered in the wilderness for too long, and they had lost all hope. They had forgotten God’s promises.

But here’s the truth: You don’t have to dwell in this valley of your fears and struggles forever, my reader. Freedom is waiting. Mountaintop experiences are waiting. A beautiful story is waiting…

And maybe a mountain won’t be moved. Maybe a mountain won’t be conquered in a stream of graceful steps. Maybe it will happen in a tedious journey of putting one aching, fearful foot in front of the other.

Your circumstances may not change, but your heart can. And that’s the difference between living as a victim and living as a warrior.

The pain can only last so long, and the sun will rise again–but first you must chase the earliest rays of light.

One of the main lessons I found in my struggle with anxiety is that I had to take active steps to overcome it. I didn’t have to get out of the valley all on my own (I thank God for carrying me through) but I did have moments when I had to look for His light and take small steps to follow it.

It was a long, hard process that didn’t happen overnight–sometimes I still have to face it–but eventually I realized that I could be free from it. Jesus’ blood had broken my chains.

When the chains broke, I couldn’t live as a victim anymore.

I was free.

More than a label

When you let your struggles, failures, weaknesses, and setbacks become your identity, it can become your label.

Maybe you say this label aloud, or maybe you only think it in your head. But that label–the diagnosis on your medical record, the name someone called you, the stereotype attached to you, the problem you continuously face–isn’t who you are.

Because you’re a lot more than that, my reader.

The most damaging part about a label is just how limiting is. It limits you–puts you into a these chains that you find yourself struggling to break. This is who I am, and this is all I’ll ever be, you may think.

And it limits God. It hides the truth that He has called you not this label, but His son or daughter (1 John 3:1). It hides the truth that, even with whatever issue has given you your label, God has still called you His workmanship–and called you to do greater things (Eph. 2:10).

I don’t know how you may be coping right now.

Maybe you’re so scared of anyone attaching this label to your name, so scared of this label becoming your reality, that you try to run from it.

You try to run from it, and you get so broken, so worn…

You don’t have to run away anymore. No one has the right to stick this label on you. Don’t let it become your identity.

Don’t let it make you live as a victim.

But maybe you’ve already lost all hope of ever living out this idea of doing greater things. Maybe you hide behind your label, because it’s all that feels familiar now…

You don’t have to hide anymore. I know it’s scary–After growing used to dwelling in the darkness, it can be hard to imagine living in the light.

Imagine pulling off that label and laying it down at the foot of the cross. Imagine taking up a new title–God’s child, Christ’s workmanship–and running free.

Now stop imagining, because that can be your reality. So what if you took the first step?

It’s a fine line

As I’ve tried to live in the freedom of Christ, I would often find myself crossing a fine line, easily falling into these two extremes.

On one hand, I refused to let myself feel my pain. I wanted to put on a tough face and run through the hurt (and not just metaphorically–I’ve faced a fair number of overuse injuries in track, haha).

If I felt like I would break, I would try to seal up the cracks myself.

But I could only hold myself together for so long.

Injuries only worsen without rest or treatment, and eventually I learned to acknowledge my struggles early on.

I had to stop running away. And I had to run into the arms of the Healer who could provide me with His rest (Matt. 11:28).

For the other extreme, I would focus on my struggles too much. So much that they became all I noticed. So much that they became my identity.

And I forgot about God’s promises. I forgot about how he had set me free.

But even with the freedom in Christ, life is still hard.

A lot of times, the pain isn’t just in our heads. And to find healing, we must first recognize the hurt.

But we also can’t let the hurt rob us of our hope.

We can acknowledge our struggles without letting those struggles chain us. We can acknowledge our hard place while also remembering that we won’t stay there forever.

The beautiful thing about wandering through the dark is that you have to look for the light.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes. Looking for the light, taking a few steps, and trusting that the sun will rise again.

Let God’s promises shine as the earliest rays–and then wait to see them come true in your life, rising over the mountaintops with all the beauty and hope that exists in a sunrise.

Remember to follow the Son’s light.